Tales from the Silver Forest
by Tiger Lily21
Summary: A collection of semi-connected fairy tale retellings written in November and December 2008.
1. Chapter 1: The 12 Dancing Princesses

**The Twelve Dancing Princesses**

**by: Tiger Lily21**

**A/N: This is the first "short" story I've written for my National Novel Writing Month project. I'm planning to write one story a day. Hopefully not all of them will be this long (this one weighs in at an astonishing 10,500 words and is technically a novella). Anyways, I hope you enjoy it. Please note that it's not edited at all and that it was written all in one day, almost non-stop. It's not my best, best work. Also, all the things that ought to be in italics are underlined instead because I'm using a writing program that exports to Word after you finish and that's how it formats things. **

**Let me know what you think!**

* * *

It all began on the first of the year. That was the day that King Frederick VII reviewed his expenses for the past year with the Royal Accountant. Having twelve daughters meant that he spent quite a bit on everything, especially clothing and footwear. He had come to expect the large numbers that accompanied those two items on the list of Royal Expenses every year. After all, his daughters were all of age to be married now, even little Luciana, and that meant they attended balls and feasts and festivals all over the kingdom. They each needed a new gown for every one, and a new pair of dancing shoes to match the gown. Within the social season, his expenses climbed enormously. He normally let the Royal Seamstress and the Royal Cobbler handle that and only looked himself on the first of the year, during the official review.

This year, the Royal Accountant had moved through the expenses for the war before anything else. Thank goodness that horrid thing is winding down at last, the king thought. Wars cost more than clothes and shoes for twelve daughters!

The kingdom of Marilon had been at war with the kingdom of Kiral for ten years now. No one was quite sure how the war had started, or why, but it looked like it would be a victory for Marilon in the end.

The Royal Accountant cleared his throat. "Ahem. Now, Your Majesty, the expenses for your daughters. They seem to have risen this year."

"Of course they've risen," said King Frederick. "Luciana's finally out in the social circle. She's been wanting more dresses and shoes and such since her birthday. Show me the number."

The Royal Accountant hugged the list to his chest. "I'm...I'm not sure if I should, Your Majesty," he stammered. "You see, when I said that the number had risen this year, I meant that it has essentially multiplied from years previously. It has more than doubled. It may even have quadrupled, or octupled. It will come as quite a shock to you, Sire, and I would not wish to shock you for anything. Please, if I could just---"

"Stop babbling and show me the number!" the king said, losing his temper and making the poor little Royal Accountant jump at least a foot in the air.

"As you wish, Your Majesty," he said and turned the list around. He pointed a shaky finger at a number. There, in the Accountant's neat handwriting, were the digits 96,000.

The king sank back in his throne and buried his face in his hands. The Royal Accountant turned the list back around quickly and hopped from one foot to the other, desperately hoping that he had not given the king a heart attack.

After a moment, the king removed his hands from his face and looked at the Royal Accountant. "What was that number?" he asked in a ragged voice.

"Ninety-six thousand," said the Royal Accountant timidly.

"Ninety-six thousand what?" asked the king.

"Orlans," said the Royal Accountant. Orlans were the largest coins used in the kingdom of Marilon. "Ninety-six thousand orlans spent on the princesses' wardrobes this year."

"Ninety-six thousand orlans," the king murmured. "That's more than we spent on the war this year, isn't it?"

The Royal Accountant looked down at the list and found the other number. 50,947. "Yes, sire," he managed to squeak out.

The king slumped even further in his throne. "And you're sure this number is correct? You didn't make a mistake, mix up two numbers or add wrong or something?"

"I never make mistakes, Sire," said the Royal Accountant just a bit testily.

"Leave me, then," said King Frederick. "I trust that the rest of that list is correct and in order. Please leave."

"Yes, Your Majesty," said the Royal Accountant, and with a little bow he scurried from the room, his precious list still clutched to his chest.

King Frederick sat alone in his throne room for quite some time, wondering what could possibly have caused his daughters to spend so much on dresses and shoes that year. There was only one way to find out. He would have to speak to the Royal Seamstress and Cobbler and then to his daughters. Somehow he wished he had put off reviewing the Royal Accounts for another day.

#

Later that same day, King Frederick VII called all twelve of his daughters to the throne room. As they entered, he studied them, thinking how much they had grown and changed over the years. They all had their late mother's hair--brown with just a hint of red--and his own hazel eyes. It was there that the similarities to their parents ended, however. Alexandra, Christine, Elinor, Georgiana, Harriet, and Jacqueline were all tall and slender. Beatrice, Danielle, Faith, Isadora, Kaitlyn, and Luciana were shorter and more curvy. Danielle might even be called plump, and Luciana's face still had traces of baby roundness, for all that she was fifteen. They stood in a bunch in front of him, whispering and giggling and looking at him with expressions that ranged from confused to frightened. He cleared his throat.

"Hello, daughters," he said.

"Hello, Father," they chorused and swept curtsies, not quite in unison but nearly so. It would have frightened him if he hadn't seen them do it so often.

Alexandra stepped forward slightly. "You wished to speak to us, Father?" she asked.

"Yes," said King Frederick, "I did. I have been reviewing the royal accounts today and I discovered something quite disconcerting. Do you know how much we spent on the war this year, daughters?"

Harriet, the mathematician, stepped forward. "About fifty thousand orlans, Father," she said. "Is that correct?"

"It is," he said. "Now, do you know how much we have spent on your collective wardrobe this year?"

Harriet stepped back as the girls burst into whispers. Alexandra stepped back as well and gathered them into a circle around her. She said something the king could not hear, gesturing with her hands. Then she stepped forward again and addressed him. "We do not know, Father," she said.

"Then I will tell you. We have spent exactly ninety-six thousand orlans buying you girls dresses and shoes. That is nearly twice as much as we spent on the war. Would any of you care to explain how this came to be?"

The girls looked worriedly at Alexandra, who spoke for them again. "We have been going to quite a lot of parties and balls, Father," she said. "More than usual. Now that all of us are out in society, we get invited to parties nearly every week in one place or another."

King Frederick gave them a hard, disbelieving stare. "You have been purchasing new gowns and new shoes every week to attend parties?" he asked.

"Yes, Father," said Alexandra.

"Then perhaps," said the king, bending over to pick up a bundle lying at his feet, "you would care to explain why the royal seamstress informed me that she made you new dresses only every other week but the royal cobbler told me that he has made new dancing slippers for each of you every day?" He unwrapped the bundle to reveal a pair of pale blue dancing slippers. He held them up so the girls could see that the soles were completely worn through.

The girls burst into whispers again. Alexandra herded them farther away from the throne and began gesturing to quiet them. Then she spoke in a voice so low her father could not hear what she was saying. He could tell by the looks on the other girls' faces, however, that she was relieving some fear of theirs. What frightened them so much about a pair of worn out shoes? Were they keeping some sort of secret from him? They must be. New shoes every day was certainly a secret. But why would they not tell him, now that he had found out about it? Always before they had confessed when he had caught them in wrongdoing. Would they do so this time? Somehow, he did not think they would.

The girls stepped forward again and Alexandra spoke. "Father," she said, "we have been dancing quite a lot lately. We order the shoes from the cobbler every day to make sure we have new ones when our old ones wear out."

Something didn't add up, King Fredrick thought. His daughters had not hosted a ball or a party at the palace for over three months, and they had not gone out more than once a month. There was something they weren't telling him.

"Where have you been dancing?" he asked. "Have you been going to parties I don't know about?"

The girls looked at each other. Luciana was biting her lip in the way she always did when she was frightened, and Danielle was twisting her hands together. Only Alexandra looked perfectly calm. It was she who spoke again for her sisters.

"No, Father," she said, "we have not."

"I don't believe you," said King Frederick frankly. "I believe there is something you are not telling me and I am determined to find out what it is. Will any of you tell me?" He looked hard at them. "Beatrice?"

"No, Father."

"Elinor then."

"No, Father."

"Harriet?"

"No, Father."

"Kaitlyn?"

"No, Father."

"Luciana, sweetheart, tell me what's going on. What are you keeping from me?"

"Nothing, Father."

"Danielle?"

"I...I...We've...Father...Nothing is going on. Alexandra is telling the truth."

Their faces betrayed them. They were all lying to him. Frederick felt anger boil up inside him. He reigned it in carefully. It would not do to shout at them. Frightening them would not get him the answer he wanted. He would have to go about it in a different way. He thought for a moment and then a brilliant idea came to him. Of course! It was perfect! It was sure to work. He smiled at his daughters.

"Very well," he said. "If you won't tell me where you've been going to dance every day, I'll simply have to find someone else to tell me. I am going to declare a contest. Any man who can solve this mystery will win one of you as his bride and become my heir. In the meantime, you will be locked into your suite at all times except for meals. You may go now. I will come and lock your door in a little while. In the meantime, if you want to confess, you're welcome to come and see me. Save the young men some trouble." He smiled at them as Alexandra hurried them out of the throne room. Once they were gone, he rang the bell for a servant and summoned the Chief Royal Scribe to write his proclamation. He would get to the bottom of this, one way or another.

#

A short time later, the princesses sat together in the sitting room that was connected to their bedrooms. Luciana was crying while Faith and Kaitlyn tried to comfort her. Elinor, Georgiana, Isadora, and Harriet were sitting in a corner, whispering furiously. Alexandra paced around the room. Beatrice and Christine had their heads together in another corner. Jacqueline sat on the window-seat, staring at the grounds below. Danielle was on the floor near her open bedroom door, knitting furiously on what appeared to be a long green scarf.

It was Alexandra who broke the silence. "Don't look so glum, all of you! It's not as if this is the end of everything," she said, striding to the middle of the room. Her sisters turned to look at her.

"What do you mean it's not the end of everything?" asked Luciana, sniffling a bit. "Father's found out about the shoes and he's called a contest. Someone is sure to figure it all out and then we'll lose it forever and one of us will have to get married and everything will be ruined!" She burst into tears again. Faith handed her a handkerchief.

Alexandra waited until Luciana's sobs had subsided, then said, "No one will figure it out and none of us is getting married to any of the fools who will come to try their hand at this contest."

"How do you know they'll be fools?" asked Danielle, her needles still clacking away.

"They'll be fools because they'll think they can outsmart us," said Alexandra with a bit of a wicked smile curling at the corners of her mouth. "But they don't know who we have on our side."

Her sisters stared at her for a moment. Then Beatrice's face lit with understanding. "You really think they'd help us?" she asked.

Alexandra nodded. "They love what we have as much as we do. They won't want it to end. We can ask tonight. It will be at least a week before anyone comes for the contest, so we have plenty to time to convince them."

"Ally, you're brilliant!" crowed Elinor. The other girls murmured their agreement. Luciana stopped sniffling long enough to go over and give her oldest sister a hug.

Only Danielle stayed outside the circle of celebration. She remained where she was, knitting on her scarf and looking worried. Something didn't feel right about this whole thing. She hadn't noticed it until today, when Father had asked her outright to tell him the truth. She had been ready to explain everything. It had been on the very tip of her tongue, but then somehow the words had gotten stuck. It was as if something was keeping her from talking about it.

"I need to go to the library," she murmured, setting down her knitting. Her sisters didn't even notice when she slipped out of the room. They were too busy listening to Alexandra as she explained her plan.

#

Within three days the royal proclamation had been sent everywhere in Marilon. By the end of the week it had gone out to the surrounding kingdoms of Arenia, Beldanie, and Jussen as well. It read:

Let it be known throughout the kingdom of Marilon and the surrounding countries that King Frederick VII of Marilon proclaims a competition, due to the strange activities of his twelve daughters. The princesses have been dancing in a mysterious location and wearing out a pair of dancing slippers each every day. Any eligible young man who comes to the palace and solves the mystery of the princesses' worn-out shoes within three days will marry the princess of his choice and become the heir to the throne. 

On the eighth day of the month, three princes and twenty noblemen from Marilon, Arenia, Beldanie, and Jussen had arrived at the palace to participate in the contest. They were all given rooms in the castle but only one man was allowed to compete at a time. When it was his turn, the man was allowed to spend three days with the princesses, including eating his meals with them. At night he was given a room connected to the princesses' suite, which had once been their dressing room, and told to stay awake and follow them if he saw them leave their rooms to go somewhere.

The first prince to try his hand was Prince Eldon of Arenia. He was tall, handsome, and broad-shouldered. He was also confident and outspoken. He spent the evening meal on his first day bragging about how he was sure to solve the mystery.

"I know you princesses are hiding something," he said with a chuckle, "and I intend to find out what it is. I shan't let you out of my sight for an instant. I expect to solve the mystery tonight."

The princesses looked at each other with a mixture of disgust and amusement. Alexandra raised her glass with a smirk. "I wish you the best of luck, sir," she said. "I toast your success."

Her sisters raised their glasses as well. "To your success, sir," they chorused.

"Thank you," said Prince Eldon and took a great gulp from his own goblet. The princesses giggled.

Prince Eldon found out absolutely nothing that first night. He told the king the next morning that he must have been more tired from his journey than he had thought, as he had slept the night away without waking once. The princesses' shoes were worn through again. The same thing happened the next two nights and Prince Eldon was sent away in disgrace.

The next two princes had as much luck as Prince Eldon had. Every night they slept like babies and in the morning the princesses' shoes were still worn clean through. The noblemen fared no better. All of them were sent home in shame. So it went on for five long months, as the king's cobbler bills grew higher and higher and the list of failed contestants grew longer and longer. People began to say that the princesses were well and truly cursed.

#

It was around this time that the war with Kiral officially ended, with Marilon the victor, and the soldiers were discharged and sent home. One of these soldiers was a man named Colin Weatherby. He had joined the army at the beginning of the war ten years earlier, when he was just eighteen. He fought bravely and rose to the rank of Captain. Unfortunately, in one of the final battles he was severely injured in the right leg. The healers managed to save him, but he would always walk with a limp and need the help of a cane. He was discharged from the army with honor but very little pay. There just wasn't much in the royal treasury for the army, what with the explosive expenses the princesses were causing. So it was that Captain Colin Weatherby ended up walking down the road toward the capital city with nothing but his sword, his cane, a sack containing the last of his provisions, and a few orlans clinking in his pockets.

Around noon he stopped on the side of the road and leaned against a tree. He rummaged in his sack and pulled out a hard roll and a bit of cheese. A meager meal, but it would have to do. He dug a hole in the roll with his finger and pushed the cheese in, then opened his mouth to take a bite. Just then someone spoke, startling him so much he nearly dropped his roll.

"Excuse me, young man. Would you mind sharing a bit of food with a poor soul?"

Colin looked around to see who was speaking to him. An old woman, bent nearly double and wrinkled beyond belief, stood a few feet away.

"I'm afraid this is all I have, Grandmother," he said. "It's not much."

"Surely there's enough there for two," said the old woman, drawing a bit closer. "Give it to me and I'll divide it equally."

Part of Colin wanted to stuff the entire roll into his mouth instead of giving it to her. But another part of him, the part that remembered his mother's teachings from so long ago, warned against it. Hadn't his mother always said to be kind to strangers? Especially to older men and women? It would be foolish and rude to eat the roll himself while she was watching. Slowly, he handed it over to her.

The old woman lifted the roll close to her face and sniffed at it for a moment. Then she broke it in two with a snap. She handed one piece back to Colin, who was surprised to see not a meager half-roll but a thick slice of brown bread with a great lump of cheese upon it. You see? His mother's voice echoed in his head. Helping someone in need often brings great rewards. Colin grinned at the old woman.

"Thank you kindly, Grandmother," he said. "You seem to have made something out of nothing. Will you sit down and eat with me?"

The old woman gave him a toothless smile and sat down on the grass. "You're very welcome, young man," she said. "And thank you for sharing your meal with me. 'Tis only a kind soul who would share with a crone such as me."

Colin took a bite of his bread and cheese. "My mother always told me to give aid to those who needed it," he said after swallowing.

"Your mother was a wise woman then," said the woman through a bite of her own meal. "She raised you well. Such a fine boy as you deserves a reward, I believe." She ate the rest of her bread and cheese in three bites and stood up. Then she walked over to where his sack lay and picked it up.

Colin nearly choked on his food as the old woman opened the sack and began rummaging through it. "What do you think you're doing?" he blurted out as soon as his mouth was clear.

The old woman set down the sack again and gave him another toothless smile. "I took nothing," she said, "if that's what you're worried about. I've only added to your supplies."

"Added what?" asked Colin suspiciously.

The old woman cackled. "Open the sack and find out."

Colin eased himself to his feet, leaning against the tree for support, and then bent over carefully to pick up the sack. He opened it. There was his canteen, which he knew was nearly empty. He pulled it out. It was heavier than it had been. Had the old woman done something to it? Opening it carefully, he sniffed the top. There was no smell. He peered inside it. There was some sort of liquid inside, but he couldn't tell what. Was it just water?

"You'll be needing that," said the old woman from behind him. "Close it up again and keep looking."

Colin frowned but closed the canteen again and set it down on the ground before continuing to look through the sack. There was his old blanket, thin and worn. What was this other piece of cloth? It hadn't been in the bag before. He pulled it out and looked at it. It was an old red cloak, faded and patched in several places.

"You'll need that too," said the old woman. "Keep looking now. There's one more thing for you."

Colin dropped the cloak on the ground and reached into the bag again. His hand touched something made of leather. Boots? He pulled them out. Sure enough, it was a pair of leather boots, rather like the ones he wore now but finer. He dropped the boots and the sack and turned to the old woman.

"What is all this?" he asked, gesturing to the canteen, the cloak, and the boots on the ground at his feet.

"It's your key to happiness," said the old woman.

"Don't talk riddles, Grandmother," said Colin impatiently. "Explain yourself."

The old woman cackled again. Her eyes, deep-set within a myriad of wrinkles, gleamed strangely. "The canteen holds an antidote to a sleeping draft. Take a sip of it before every meal you eat from now on. The boots will take you anywhere you want to go if you say, 'I wish to travel to' and your destination and then take a step. I've also charmed them to help that leg of yours. The cloak is most important. It will make you invisible. You'll know when you need it."

"Why do I need any of this?" asked Colin.

In response, the old woman stepped forward and pressed something into his hand. Colin looked at it. It was a crumpled wad of paper. He opened it and read the royal proclamation about the contest and the mystery of the worn-out shoes. He looked at the old woman.

"You think I should enter the contest?" he asked. "I'm no prince. I'm only a poor soldier. They wouldn't let me enter."

"Trust me," said the old woman with another grin. "Take the canteen and the cloak and the boots and go to the palace. Tell them you want to enter the contest and see what happens."

Then, before Colin could say a word, she walked behind the tree and vanished. Colin leaned against the tree and stared at the items at his feet. "Me? Go to the palace?" he murmured. "Me, marry one of the princesses?" It seemed ridiculous. On the other hand, where else could he go? He had no family left; his parents had died the year he joined the army and he had no brothers or sisters. He had no skills other than fighting, though his mother had always told him he had a good mind.

Slowly, he bent over and picked up the sack. He placed the canteen and the cloak inside it. Then he eased himself into a sitting position and pulled off his old boots. He put them into the sack and pulled on the new ones. The first thing he noticed was that the pain in his injured leg had diminished significantly. She really did do something to these boots, he thought as he stood up. I wonder if they do everything she said. Only one way to find out.

He slung the sack over his shoulder and said, "I wish to travel to the royal city, to the palace." Then he took a step forward.

#

Colin was never quite sure exactly how long that first trip took him. It might have been a minute, or it might have been an instant. As soon as his foot touched the ground he found himself whirling through nothingness. After an uncertain amount of time he landed in a clump of bushes near the palace gates. One of the guards looked around at the noise. Colin clambered out of the bushes as fast as he could and walked up to the guard.

"What do you want, then?" the guard asked gruffly.

Colin handed him the copy of the proclamation. "I've come to try my hand at solving this mystery," he said.

"You and every other man in the kingdom," muttered the guard. "All right. Go on in. When you get to the front doors, knock and state your business. They'll take you to the king."

"Thank you," said Colin and bowed. The guard bowed back and opened the gates. Colin walked through, marveling at how much his limp had improved since he'd put on the new boots. Even walking up the multitude of steps to the front doors of the palace didn't make his leg ache. He knocked smartly on the door.

A footman opened it and he and Colin repeated the conversation he'd had with the guard at the gate. The footman eventually let him in and directed him to the throne room, where Colin explained his purpose to yet another guard. That guard opened the door of the throne room and called in a loud voice, "Another contestant, Your Majesty. Captain Colin Weatherby, late of the Marilon army."

King Frederick sat on a tall gold throne at one end of the room. He did not look like the portrait of the king that was stamped on the orlans Colin had seen. That man had a regal, serious face and an air of having everything in order. This man's face was filled with worry and weariness. His hair was getting slightly too long and was streaked liberally with gray. His crown sat crooked on his head and when he saw Colin he only sighed.

"I wondered when the common folk would realize they were allowed to enter the contest as well," he said, more to himself than to Colin. "Goodness knows the royalty and nobility have failed miserably."

Colin didn't know how to reply to this--or even if he was supposed to reply. He was saved the trouble of coming up with a response by the king, who seemed to notice him for the first time and spoke again, this time directly to him.

"Welcome, Captain Weatherby," he said. "Do you believe you can find out where my daughters dance?"

"I believe I have a chance, Your Majesty," said Colin, bowing low.

"At least you're honest," said the king, half to himself again. "You're rather dirty, though."

"I have traveled far to come here," said Colin. "You must forgive my shabby appearance. I haven't much to my name, nor have I had the time to buy myself anything new."

"Of course," said the king. "I'll send you first to the Royal Tailor, then, and after that you will meet my daughters. I wish you the best of luck, Captain Weatherby, though that hasn't meant much to any who have come before you."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," said Colin, unsure what else to say.

The king waved his hand, which Colin took to be his signal to leave. He walked out of the throne room. The guard at the door kindly directed him to the Royal Tailor, where he spent the better part of the afternoon being fitted with new clothes. By the time he was finished, it was nearly suppertime. Another guard escorted Colin--now dressed in a fine suit of deep green velvet---to the room that would be his for the next three nights. Colin barely remembered to take a swig of the potion in his canteen before yet another guard came to take him to the banquet room.

#

The princesses sat on both sides of the long table. The king sat at the head. Colin took the seat at the foot, and the servants began bringing in their food. For the first few courses Colin was distracted by the quantity and the quality of the food, which was by far the most and the best he'd ever eaten. Even his mother's cooking had never compared to this. By the time they had finished the soup course, Colin remembered why he was here and began studying the princesses. They all looked relatively the same, but there were a few whose faces stood out to him. One was the eldest--Princess Alexandra, he reminded himself. Her eyes held something of cleverness and cunning, and her mouth twisted in an odd way as she spoke to him from the other end of the table.

"You are the first soldier we've had here for quite a while," she said. "Do tell us about the war, Captain."

"It is not a pleasant topic," said Colin. "I would not wish to spoil your supper, Your Highness."

The princess's mouth twisted again in that odd way but she didn't press the matter. Instead, she said, "Tell us about your family then."

"They are all dead, Highness."

"Your friends?"

"The ones I have fought in the war with me but we parted ways several weeks ago. I am not sure where any of them are at the moment."

The princess raised her eyebrows but turned back to her meal and ignored him. Colin continued studying her sisters. The next one who caught his eye was the fourth sister. Her eyes were browner than those of her sisters, brown with just a hint of green. Something about those eyes intrigued him. She looked at him throughout the entire meal, more than all the rest of her sisters did. Sometimes she looked as if she wanted to say something to him but then she would turn away and speak to her sisters or take a bite of her food. He would make sure to speak with her if he got the chance.

The only other sister Colin really noticed was the youngest one, Luciana. She reminded him of a frightened rabbit. Her eyes were large and she fidgeted in her chair every few minutes. She looked at him for a few seconds and then looked away then looked at him again.

At the end of the main course, Princess Alexandra spoke again. "Do you have a plan for solving Father's mystery, Captain?" she asked.

"If I did, Princess, I would not tell you what it is for fear that you would try to stop me," said Colin, allowing himself a grin.

"Bold words for a common soldier," said Princess Alexandra, raising her eyebrows again. "May your boldness, if nothing else, bring you success in this contest." She raised her glass. "To Captain Weatherby."

Her sisters and father followed her lead. "To Captain Weatherby," they echoed.

"Thank you," said Colin, bowing his head. He raised his own glass and took a sip. The wine tasted odd. The old woman's words about the contents of his canteen came back to him and he felt a rush of relief that he had remembered to take a sip of it. Someone had drugged his wine. Bravely he drank the rest of it and set the goblet down on the table.

#

The meal eventually ended and Colin accompanied the princesses back to their suite. There he feigned tiredness, causing Princess Alexandra to smirk, and retired to his room. He left the door open a crack and lay down on the bed. He breathed loudly and deeply, occasionally adding a grunting snore. If the princesses thought he was really asleep, they would be careless with what they said to each other. Colin was counting on that carelessness to give him the information he needed.

The first princess to speak was Alexandra, of course. She burst out laughing. "That fool!" she said. "He's the stupidest one we've had yet!"

Some of her other sisters giggled. One of them--Colin could not tell which one--said, "He gulped that entire glass in a matter of minutes. He might sleep through his three days!"

"I hope he does," said Alexandra, sounding disgusted. "There's something about him I don't like. And it's not just that he's a commoner, either."

"I don't like him either," said Princess Luciana. She had a distinctive squeak of a voice; Colin could tell it was her. "He scares me."

"Everything scares you, Lucy," said one of the other girls with a laugh. "Remember how scared you were the first time we went down?"

"It's not my fault!" exclaimed Lucy. "It was dark and I had no idea where we were going."

The other girls laughed again. In his little room, Colin mulled over the meaning of the phrase "we went down". Down where? He strained his ears for more and was not disappointed. Alexandra was speaking again.

"Go and get ready," she said. "We'll go early tonight so we can stay longer."

Some of her sisters gave squeals of delight. Colin heard several doors close. He lay still for a few minutes, until he was absolutely sure all of the princesses had gone into their rooms, then sat up. His mind was whirling. What had they meant by "went down"? Where were they going? There was only one way to find out.

Climbing off the bed, he knelt on the floor and pulled his sack out from under the bed. He opened it and pulled out the cloak the old woman had given him. She had said it would make him invisible. It was time now to find out if that was really true. He put it on. As soon as he fixed the clasp at his throat, he noticed that he could not see his hands anymore. He held them out in front of him, but they might as well have been behind his back. He could not see a thing. The cloak worked.

He bent over and picked up the bag on the floor. Although he could not see his hands, he could see the bag, apparently floating in mid-air. He dumped its contents on the bed, then set about arranging the old blanket and boots under the covers so that it looked as if he was still asleep in the bed. It wouldn't fool anyone if they looked closely, but he had the feeling the girls were too confident to spend much time to see if he was really in his bed. As long as it looked and sounded like it, they would believe it was true. He walked around behind the bed and continued to make the breathing and snoring sounds.

Half an hour passed before Colin heard the princesses' voices again. They were all chattering and giggling together. One of them walked across the sitting room to the door of his little room. Colin gave a loud, grunting snore just as the door swung open, revealing Princess Beatrice. She giggled and turned around.

"He's sleeping like a pig!" she said to her sisters and walked away from the room, leaving the door wide open. Colin left his spot by the bed and followed her back into the sitting room.

The princesses were gathered in a circle in the very center of the room. They were all dressed in fine gowns. When one of them moved, Colin saw a pair of dainty new dancing slippers on her feet. He stood just outside the circle and watched. Alexandra spoke in a low voice.

"Open the door, descend the stair, take the boat to my true love there," she said, almost chanting the words. The other girls repeated the strange phrases.

"Open the door, descend the stair, take the boat to my true love there. Open the door, descend the stair, take the boat to my true love there. Open the door, descend the stair, take the boat to my true love there!"

As the last "there" fell from their lips, the floor in the middle of the circle began sinking down into itself. Colin watched in fascination as the princesses stepped one by one into the hole that formed. They did not fall; instead, they seemed to sink down as slowly as the floor had. Colin hurried to join the line behind Princess Luciana. He waited until she had stepped into the hole and then did so himself.

It was not just a hole in the floor. There was a staircase under his feet. He followed the princesses down into the darkness. He had no idea how long they walked down the stairs. They stopped only once, when Colin accidentally trod on the train of Luciana's dress. She screamed. The other girls turned back to her and Alexandra's voice drifted up from further down the staircase.

"What happened?"

"Something stepped on my dress!" said Luciana.

"Don't be a ninny!" came Alexandra's voice. "You probably caught it on the edge of a step. Let's keep going. We're nearly there."

Luciana whimpered but she started walking again. Colin continued following them. He wondered how they could see where they were going. The staircase was pitch black. He only kept from falling by listening closely to the rustle of the girls' dresses and the slight patter of their footsteps.

At last they reached the bottom of the staircase. A dim light shone somewhere in the distance now, an eerie reddish glow that made the hair on the back of Colin's neck stand on end. The princesses didn't seem to mind it. They swept on, moving toward the light.

As far as Colin could tell, they were traveling through an underground wasteland. There was nothing around them. The red light pulsed ahead and the blackness seemed to push them from behind. Colin kicked at the ground under his feet and was surprised to feel his boot connect with something that moved. A moment later, Princess Luciana screamed again.

"Ouch! Something hit my foot!"

The princesses stopped again. Alexandra called back, "Don't be a fool! You probably just caught it on a root!" Luciana murmured something about knowing the difference between catching her ankle and having it hit by something. None of her sisters paid her any attention. They moved on toward the red light. Colin wondered how Alexandra had come up with the idea of a root when there was nothing growing here that could have roots and what exactly he had kicked.

After a while, the princesses stopped. The light was bright enough now that Colin could see they were standing at the edge of a black lake. They seemed to be waiting for something. Then Colin heard it: the sound of something moving over the water. The princesses gave happy cries as twelve black boats pulled up to where they were standing. Colin bit back a cry of surprise and disgust as he saw the creatures standing in each boat.

The creatures looked almost human, but they were too tall for men and they were misshapen, like humans that had been tortured and then frozen in the most grotesque positions. Their skin was reddish-black; some of them had jagged silvery scars on their bodies. They had long black hair, lipless mouths, and eyes like burning coals. There was only one thing these could possibly be: demons.

The demons stepped out of their boats. Each one bowed to a princess. Each princess swept a curtsy in response. Each demon held out a hand. Each princess took one and the demons helped them into the boats.

Colin forced himself to stay where he was, though he wanted to rush forward and stop the princesses. It was obvious that they did not realize what the demons were. Anyone who did would never climb into a boat with one. As Colin watched, the demons climbed back into the boats, which began moving away across the black lake, though the demons weren't rowing.

"I wish to travel to the place where the princesses are going," Colin murmured, and was swept into nothingness again as his boots responded to the magic phrase.

He landed in the middle of what appeared to be a ruined castle. Four walls of crumbling black stone surrounded a floor of deep red stone. A horrible stench pervaded the entire place. Colin had to swallow the bile that rose in his throat as he heard twelve bumps outside the castle. A moment later he heard the princesses' voices again. They were talking with the demons, who spoke back in harsh voices that sent shivers up Colin's back. Once all the princesses and demons were assembled, Alexandra and her demon--who was by far the ugliest and most frightening of the bunch--moved to the center of the floor.

"Let the dance begin!" they said as one. The other princesses and demons joined them and a horrific dance began. The only sound besides the movement of the dancers was a distant chiming that rang out every once in a while. Colin figured it must be a clock of some sort, keeping the time.

Colin watched it all, unable to tear his eyes away, and tried to put all these new pieces of information together. The princesses came down into an underground realm inhabited by demons every night. They obviously did not see it for what it was, and they did not realize that the demons were demons. They danced in a ruined castle across a black lake. What did it all mean? More importantly, what could he do about it? He was sure that telling the king would not be enough. Demons were known for their powerful magic, their crafty minds, and their vengeful spirits. Even if the king forbade the princesses to go down to the demon world again, even if he moved them to a new set of rooms and kept them under lock and key at all times, the demons would find a way to get to them. Worse, they would go after the king too for spoiling their plan. There was the potential for the deaths of the entire royal family if these demons lost the princesses.

Colin was no closer to a solution by the time the princesses and demons stopped dancing than he had been when they began. He waited until the demons had taken the princesses back to the boats then said, "I wish to travel to the room I've been given in the palace", took a step, and let the boots drag him into nothingness. He had no wish to travel through the dark demon realm again.

#

Colin spent the few remaining hours of that night mulling over what he had seen and working out a plan to do something about it. The first thing he would have to do, he decided, was to find out more about demons. He knew only what he had heard in old stories from his parents and his fellow soldiers. One of the first rules he had learned in the army was "know your enemy". These demons were different from the Kiralan soldiers in that they were much more dangerous and powerful, but that did not change the rules of war. And this was a war, at least in Colin's mind. Wars happened when someone else had something you wanted and they wouldn't give it to you without a fight. In this case, Colin wanted the princesses freed from whatever compelled them to travel into the demon world but the demons were unlikely to give them up without a fight. So it was to be a war, with the army of Colin against the army of demons. So be it. As he watched the sunrise through his window, Colin swore an oath to himself. He would do whatever it took to save the princesses, even up to sacrificing his own life. It was his duty.

He joined the princesses for breakfast and was surprised to see that none of them looked tired. He was not surprised to hear from the king that their dancing slippers were worn through again. He had known they would be. Dancing for hours on end on a smooth ballroom floor would tear those little silk slippers to shreds; the princesses had been dancing on a rough stone floor. It was a wonder their feet weren't cut and bruised.

"Did you manage to find out anything last night, Captain?" asked the king.

"No, Sire, I'm afraid I did not," said Colin. He had decided to keep everything he knew to himself until he was sure he had solved not only the mystery but also the problem. "I fell asleep almost as soon as I crawled into bed and slept soundly. I will try again tonight."

"I wish you better luck on your second try," said King Frederick.

"Thank you, sire," said Colin In the meantime, I was hoping that your lovely daughters might give me a tour of the palace today."

Princess Alexandra answered for her father. "We are not allowed out of our suite, Captain Weatherby," she said. "If you want to spend any time with us, you will have to do it in there."

"I will do that this afternoon, then," said Colin. "This morning, I would like to see the palace library, if there is one."

"A soldier who likes books?" asked Princess Danielle, speaking for the first time since Colin had arrived. She had a pleasant, gentle voice. "How curious."

Colin inclined his head to her. "I admit it is unusual," he said, "but my mother always taught me that books can answer your questions better than some people. They aren't always of use in a war, but in times of peace, when I have the leisure, I would consult a book before charging headfirst at a problem."

"How sensible of you," murmured Princess Danielle and turned back to her breakfast, though not before giving him a strange look. Colin made a note to speak with her first that afternoon. She might know more than she was telling, and she seemed like the sort who would be willing to help him.

"I will arrange for you to be taken to the library as soon as the meal is over, Captain," said the king, "and may you find what you are looking for there."

Half an hour later, Colin found himself in the largest room he have ever seen. It was completely full of books. The walls were hidden behind wooden shelves that reached from floor to ceiling, all of them holding books on every subject imaginable. The middle of the room, too, was filled with smaller shelves. In one corner of the room an ancient librarian sat at a desk, reading an enormous tome and paying not attention to Colin whatsoever.

It took Colin most of the morning to find anything even vaguely useful. The books were not organized in any way that he could tell. At last he found two books with information on demons in them. He sat down on the floor between two of the shelves to read, but found that the books merely contained the old legends he already knew.

Surely there must be more about demons in a library this size! He thought. He walked over to the old librarian and cleared his throat. The woman jumped a foot in the air and slammed her book shut, sending up a cloud of dust.

"What do you want?" she demanded when the dust had cleared.

"I was hoping to find a book about demons," said Colin. He regretted the words almost immediately. The librarian's eyes flashed behind her spectacles.

"Demons?" she repeated. "What do you want to know about demons for?"

"I...I can't tell you, madam," said Colin. "Private business."

"Hmmph," sniffed the librarian. "Well, I'm afraid that my only book on demons was borrowed months ago and it hasn't been returned yet."

"Who borrowed it?" asked Colin, half hopeful, half despairing.

"Princess Danielle," said the librarian.

Colin left the library without another word to the woman, heading for the princesses' suite.

When he arrived at the suite, however, he was unable to speak to Princess Danielle right away. Princess Alexandra insisted that he must speak with each of them in age order, from youngest to oldest. So it was that Colin spent most of the afternoon talking with the younger princesses and, by the time he reached Princess Danielle, it was nearly time for the evening meal.

He knocked on her door. She opened it and swept a curtsey.

"Please come in, Captain," she said with a smile.

"Thank you," said Colin. He walked into the room. It was decorated simply. The only furniture was a four-poster bed, a desk with a chair, a vanity table, and a large trunk in one corner. Princess Danielle closed the door behind him.

"Sit, please," she said, gesturing to the chair at the desk. Colin sat. Danielle walked over to the trunk and opened it to reveal a large amount of yarn in various colors. She pulled out a ball of green yarn that had a pair of needles stuck in it and closed the trunk again, then sat on it. Pulling the needles out of the yarn, she began to knit on the scarf that was already attached to them. They sat in silence for a moment. Then Danielle spoke over the sound of her clicking needles.

"Did you find what you wanted in the library, Captain?"

"No, I'm afraid I didn't," said Colin. He hesitated for a moment, then added, "The librarian seemed to think you might have the book I was looking for."

One of Danielle's knitting needles slipped out of her hands and fell to the floor. She went pale. "What?"

Colin pressed on. "The librarian told me that you borrowed a book from her months ago that happens to be the one I was looking for today. Do you still have it, Princess?"

"No, I lost it," she said. Then she shook her head. "That's a lie. I do have it. It's in this trunk. I hid it under the yarn."

"Will you take it out and give it to me?" he asked.

"No! I can't!"

"Why not?"

"I...I...I don't know why." Her eyes were filling with tears.

"Did you read the book, Princess?" Colin asked, deciding to try a different route.

"Y...yes."

"Then you know what it was about."

"Yes."

"What did you think of it?"

"I...I...I..." Suddenly she slid off the trunk and knelt on the floor. "When I read that book it was as if something broke in my mind," she said shakily. "Something that had been there blocking something else. It broke and I realized everything and suddenly I knew why I couldn't tell Father the truth. It was because they made it so we couldn't tell. But now I can tell only I dare not! If I do, I know they'll kill me! I've seen them for what they are now. I've seen what that place really is. But I have to keep going or they'll suspect and they'll come here and kill me. Please, you have to help us. You're the first one I've trusted enough to tell. I think you're smart and you must be brave if you survived that war. You have to help us, please!"

She buried her face in her hands and began to sob. Colin knelt on the floor beside her and gingerly put an arm around her. She leaned into him and continued weeping. Colin had no choice but to comfort her. He stroked her hair and whispered the sort of nonsense his mother had used on him when he had been very small and frightened. He held her close. She smelled of honey and roses and her hair was soft and warm. He never wanted to let her go.

At last, however, she cried herself out and sat up. "Thank you," she said shakily.

"You're welcome," he said.

"Will you help us?" she asked.

"Of course I will, Princess. But first I need that book. Will you give it to me, please? I promise, I won't let anything harm you."

She nodded and stood. She walked to the trunk and opened it again, burying her arms up to her elbows in the yarn before pulling them out again. She clutched a thick book with a blood-red cover in both hands, which she brought to him. She dropped it in his lap as if it was a hot coal.

"Thank you," said Colin.

"You're welcome," she said and closed the trunk again. She sat on it and watched as he opened the book.

Colin read for another hour, absorbing all the information in the book. At last he looked up at Princess Danielle again and smiled.

"I know what I have to do now," he said, "but I'll need your help."

"My help?" she repeated, going pale again.

"You're the only one of your sisters that knows. It has to be you."

"I'm not brave enough," she said. "I wouldn't be able to do it."

"You've gone down there and danced with them every night for months. You've kept this secret to yourself all that time. You told me about it, and you touched the book again. You are very brave. I believe you can do this."

"Really?" she asked.

"Really," he said, and explained his plan.

#

By the time Colin emerged from Princess Danielle's room they had both missed the evening meal and the other princesses had returned.

"We missed you at dinner, Danielle," said Princess Alexandra. "Did you really have so much to talk about with the good Captain that you forgot about the time?"

"Forgive me, Your Highness," said Colin before Danielle could answer. "It was my fault. I brought up the topic of books and before we realized it the time had flown. Is there any way we could still get a meal?"

"Of course," said Princess Alexandra with a wink in Danielle's direction. "I'll go to the kitchens and get you something."

"But we're not allowed out of the suite after supper," protested Danielle.

"Nonsense!" said Princess Alexandra. "Father will never know I've gone and I'll be back in a few minutes." She swept out of the sitting room before either Danielle or Colin could protest further. True to her word, she returned a few minutes later with a tray holding two plates of food and two glasses of wine. She handed one plate and glass to Danielle and gave the tray to Colin.

"Thank you," he said. "I'll eat this in my room if you don't mind. It's quite late and I expect I'll go to bed right after I finish it."

"Yes, I expect you will," said Alexandra with another smirk. "Go on then, Captain. We'll see you in the morning."

Colin walked into his room with the tray and closed the door. Then he took out his canteen and drank some of the contents before applying himself to the food and wine on the tray. The wine had the same strange taste as the night before.

He set up the bed the same way as the night before, put on the cloak, and made snoring noises. He heard the princesses' doors shut and open again. He heard Alexandra begin the chant. Then he slipped out into the sitting room again. The floor had already sunk into the floor and the princesses were descending. Colin walked to Danielle's side and took her hand. She gasped slightly, but he whispered in her ear, "It's me. I'll be at the ruins waiting for you. You know what you have to do."

She gave a barely perceptible nod and gave his hand a slight squeeze before following her sisters down into the darkness. Colin waited until Luciana had left before saying, "I wish to travel to the place where the princesses and the demons dance." He took a step, whirled through darkness, and arrived in moments.

He waited a considerably long time for the princesses and demons to arrive. When they finally did, he rushed and caught Danielle's hand again before her demon could claim her for the dance.

"Did you ask the question?" he whispered.

"Yes," she said, "but you won't like the answer. I asked him why we have to come down here to dance with them, why they can't come up and meet our father and court us properly. He said that after tonight, if all goes well, they will be able to come up and meet Father and we will be able to stay together forever." She shivered. Colin wrapped an arm around her.

"You'd better go and dance," he said. "I'll be here if something goes wrong."

She nodded and walked away to her waiting demon, who swept her into the dance. Colin watched and waited. The strange chimes sounded once, twice, three times. The dance stopped abruptly and all the demons fell to their knees before the princesses and spoke as one.

"Fair ladies," they said, "we have brought you down to this place for a year and a half now. We have danced with you every night and have fallen in love with you. Now we have a question to ask all of you. If you give the right answer, we will not have to dance down here anymore; we will be able to dance in the day, and your father and all his subjects will dance with us. The question is this: will you marry us?"

There was silence for nearly a minute. Then Danielle screamed.

"No! Never!" She turned to her sisters. "They're demons!" she said. "They mean to kill us!"

"She lies!" cried Danielle's demon, but it was too late. The other princesses' mouths fell open and they screamed as they saw the demons for what they truly were. They backed away from the demons, who sprang forward at them. Most of the girls escaped them, but Danielle's demon managed to grab her by the wrist. It was then that Colin threw off his cloak and pulled his sword from its sheath at his waist.

"Unhand her!" he cried and ran at the demon. His sword flew through the air to slice through the demon's flesh. Danielle bit back a sob as the sword cut the demon's head clean off, spattering her with its black blood. The hand that had been around her wrist fell limp as the demon's lifeless body collapsed on the floor.

"Run!" Colin shouted at her. "Take your sisters and go! I'll handle the demons!"

Danielle nodded and shouted to her sisters. The demons paid them no notice. They had turned their attention to Colin and were advancing on him, their eyes blazing. Colin's sword flashed again and again as he struck at the monsters. They fell one by one until there was only a heap of bodies in the center of the dance floor. Then Colin stood alone, breathing heavily, his silver sword coated in the thick black blood of the monsters he had slain.

He stepped back from the corpses and picked up the invisibility cloak from where he had thrown it. He did not bother to put it on. Instead he said in a clear voice, "I wish to travel back to the princesses" and took a step.

#

Colin found the princesses huddled together in the sitting room. When they saw him, they all began clamoring at once. Colin just shook his head at them. "In the morning," he said and walked into his little room, pausing only long enough to give Danielle a reassuring smile.

The next morning, as promised, Colin and the sisters spoke for a long time. They decided that it would not be prudent to tell King Frederick everything that had happened. For one thing, he wouldn't believe all of it. They came up with a story that told most of what had happened but left out the demons and the battle Colin had fought. When they told him at breakfast, King Frederick was surprised but pleased to hear that Colin had solved the mystery. He asked him which of the princesses he wanted to marry. Colin thought he already knew, but he asked politely if he might have one more day to spend with the princesses to get to know them so that he might make a fair decision. King Frederick agreed.

Colin and the princesses spent the rest of the day together. He learned more about all of them, including Alexandra, Beatrice, and Christine, whom he had not spoken with the day before. They were all very nice, but by the end of the day Colin found that his choice had not changed. There was only one of the princesses he really wanted, and he proclaimed his choice that night at dinner. If she would have him, he would like to marry Princess Danielle. Danielle agreed and immediately began work on knitting her wedding dress.

#

Three months later, Captain Colin Weatherby and Princess Danielle of Marilon were wed. All of her sisters danced at their wedding for the first time since Colin had solved the mystery. After King Frederick VII died, Colin was crowned king. King Colin I and Queen Danielle I were two of the best-loved monarchs in Marilon history. And so, they lived happily ever after.


	2. Chapter 2: Bearskin

**Bearskin**

**by: Tiger Lily21**

**A/N: NaNoWriMo Day 2 is almost over, but I finally finished this story. It's not nearly as long as yesterday's and it doesn't go quite as far off the original story as yesterday's did. Even so, I think it's pretty good. Please remember that, again, this story is completely unedited and was written all in one day. Thanks for the reviews on the last story and I hope you enjoy this one just as much. :-)**

**~Anne~**

* * *

Once upon a time, in the land of Kiral, a poor young soldier wandered along the road. The war against Marilon had ended just recently, with Marilon the victor. This soldier, along with his fellows, had been discharged and sent on his way with only the clothes on his back. He had sold his sword the day before for a few coins, which he had spent on food that had only lasted until that morning. So it was that the soldier, whose name was Jonathon Freewell, ended up heading to who-knows-where, hungry, and tired. The day was warm and he eventually stopped to rest.

It was as he sat by the side of the road that Jonathon's luck began to change. He was half-asleep, lulled by the sun, when he heard a terrible roar close by. His eyes flew open and he scrambled to his feet in time to see a great black bear not three feet in front of him. He had no weapons, nothing to defend himself.

This is the end, then, he thought as the bear drew closer. After all the times I escaped Death in battle, I'm going to die defenseless at the paws of a bear.

He closed his eyes and waited for the end to come. But it didn't. Instead, someone else shouted. The bear roared once more and then there was a mighty crack, an earth-shaking thud, and everything was quiet and still. Jonathon dared to open his eyes. The bear was lying on the ground a foot away from him. A tall gentleman in a fine red coat and a shiny red hat stood behind the bear. He held a cane with a crimson jewel on top in one hand. The other hand held a long knife. The gentleman smiled at Jonathon.

"There now," he said, "you're perfectly safe. I've dealt with the beast." He spoke like a father to a young child. His voice was smooth and surprisingly soft. His dark eyes glinted as he looked at Jonathon, who found he could not look away. "Haven't you anything to say?" the gentleman continued, sheathing the knife. "After all, I have just saved your life."

Jonathon took a moment to find his voice. Then he managed to say, "Thank you."

"I was hoping for something a bit more eloquent," the gentleman said, shaking his head, "but I suppose that will do. You do realize, though, that I need a bit more than a couple of words to repay me for the kindness I've shown you. I could have let that bear eat you."

"I'm very glad you didn't, sir," said Jonathon, getting to his feet and walking around the bear. He held out his hand to the strange gentleman. "I wish I had something to give you as payment, but all I've got is the clothes on my back, sir."

The gentleman did not take Jonathon's hand. Instead he smiled and reached into the left pocket of his coat. He pulled out a handful of coins. They clinked noisily. He put them back into the pocket and reached into the right pocket. This time he pulled out a loaf of bread. It steamed slightly, as if it were fresh out of the oven. The tantalizing aroma tickled Jonathon's nose and made his mouth water. He licked his lips, but the gentleman stowed the bread back in his pocket again.

"Do you like my coat then?" he asked.

"I do indeed, sir," said Jonathon. "Is it magic?"

The gentleman laughed. "You might say that. Would you like it?"

"I couldn't take it, sir," said Jonathon. "I already owe you my life and I can't pay you back for that. If I take anything more from you, sir, I'll be in your debt for the rest of my days."

The gentleman laughed again. "Well we certainly can't have that, can we? Suppose you and I make a deal, young man. I will give you what you want if you do something for me."

"Anything, sir!" said Jonathon, thinking of having a magic coat that could provide food and gold out of nothing.

"Very well then," said the gentleman. He pulled out his knife again and handed it, hilt-first, to Jonathon. "Skin that bear," he said. "I'll explain while you do it."

Jonathon took the knife and did as he was told. The gentleman continued. "I will give you my coat and that knife and cancel your life debt to me if you will wear that bear skin for seven years. You must wear it at all times, and you must not cut your hair, shave your whiskers, or cut your nails for that time. After the seven years are over, you may take off the skin, cut your hair, beard, and nails, and go on living as if you had never met me. If, however, you break any of these conditions, I will find you and take back my coat and more. It will be as if I had never come along and saved you from that bear, but you will wish that the bear had taken your life, not me. Do you understand?"

Jonathon nodded. "Yes, sir," he said. "I get the coat and the dagger and am freed from debt if I wear this skin and don't cut my hair, beard, or nails for seven years. If I make it, I get to keep the coat and go on living life normally. If I don't make it, you'll take what's owed you."

"Very good, young man," said the gentleman. "Now, pick up that bearskin. Come and take my coat and then put on the skin. As soon as it's on, your seven years begin."

Jonathon picked up the skin. The gentleman removed his coat and handed it to Jonathon, who put it on. Then he draped the bear skin over himself. The strange gentleman held out his hand. Jonathon shook it. The gentleman laughed quietly and walked away.

#

Jonathon continued on his way down the road, now wearing the bear skin over the red coat. He pulled a loaf of bread out of the right hand pocket of the coat and munched on it as he walked. By nightfall he came to a town. It was then that he learned exactly what he had gotten himself into.

As he walked down the street of the town, people gasped and ran out of his way. One little boy pointed and said loudly, "Mama! A bear! A real big one!" He tried to get closer but his mother grabbed his arm and pulled him away.

"Don't go near it," she said, still loud enough for Jonathon to hear. As she walked away, she muttered, "What's a vicious creature like that doing here?"

A creature. That was all he was now. A creature, large and vicious and dangerous, the kind that made people run in terror. Although he had unlimited wealth and food, he would never be accepted anywhere because of how he looked. And it'll only get worse, he thought, remembering the rest of his deal with the strange gentleman. As his hair, beard, and nails grew longer, he would only grow to look more like a bear.

Ashamed of himself, he ran through the town until he was outside it once more. Then he continued running, not caring where he was going or what happened to him. At last he collapsed from exhaustion. He moved off the road and lay in the grass and wept. He longed to tear off the bear skin and the red coat, but at the same time he knew what would happen if he did. If it's a choice between being seen as a monster for seven years and dying, I'll take being a monster, he thought, but I will count every day of these seven years until they're over.

#

Three years passed. Jonathon continued wandering through the country. As he had known, he grew to look more and more like a bear as his hair and nails grew. He tried not to pass through any towns. When he did, he waited until dark. He paid enough gold to convince the innkeepers to let him stay until sunrise the next morning. He never interacted with anyone if he could possibly help it.

One night, when Jonathon had managed to get a room in an inn, he heard a strange noise from the room next door. It was a low, moaning sound, as if someone was in pain. Curious, Jonathon crept out of the room. It was late enough that none of the guests would see him. The door of the next room was shut, but he could still hear the moaning noise coming through it. Jonathon raised a hand and tapped on the door.

"Who's there?" came a shaky voice from the other side.

"A friend," said Jonathon. "Are you all right?"

"No," said the voice. "No..."

"Do you need help?"

"No one can help me. It's too late. It's too late." The person moaned again.

Whoever the person in the room was, they needed help. "I'm going to come in," said Jonathon. "Don't be frightened." He pushed open the door.

A man sat on the bed in the room, his head in his hands. He was dressed in clothes that might have been fine at one time and his hair, brown with streaks of gray, hung limply around his face. He didn't look up as Jonathon entered the room. Instead, he moaned again. Jonathon stood in the doorway, unsure what to do next.

"Sir," he said, "are you in some sort of trouble?"

"Trouble?" the man repeated. "Oh yes, I'm in terrible trouble. I don't know what to do..."

"Perhaps if you tell me, I can help you in some way, sir."

The man sighed. "Very well," he said, still with his head in his hands. "My name is Lucas Tredwin. I'm a merchant. Up until a few weeks ago, my business was doing quite well. Then my partner double-crossed me. He stole most of the money from our latest transaction and ran off, leaving me with nothing. I have three daughters to provide for. How can I give them anything when my business is crashing down around my ears? What can I do?"

Jonathon put a hand in his left pocket and felt gold move under his fingers. "If you had money, sir, if you had enough to replace what the man stole from you, could you rebuild your business?" he asked.

Tredwin looked up. His eyes widened as he saw Jonathon. Before he could cry out, Jonathon pulled a handful of gold out of his pocket. "I can give you the money you need," he said. "However much you need, I'll provide it."

"Why would you do something like that for a complete stranger?" Tredwin asked. "Who are you?"

"Call me Bearskin," said Jonathon. "I want to help you because I have the means, and I certainly can't use all this gold. Looking the way I do, I don't have much need for it."

"But you don't even know me," said Tredwin.

"It doesn't matter," said Jonathon. "You need help, I can provide it."

He crossed the room and poured the gold into Tredwin's lap. Tredwin picked up one of the coins and studied it. His face brightened.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked.

"Absolutely," Jonathon said.

Tredwin stood. The gold fell to the floor, but he didn't notice. He held out a hand. "If you're going to help me," he said, "then I want to do something for you, Mr. Bearskin. I'll need a new partner to help me run my business. Will you take the job?"

"I'm not the best person to hire," said Jonathon, "and I have...something I need to do, something that will take me quite a while to complete."

Tredwin's smile faded slightly. "Surely there must be something I can do to repay you," he said. "Isn't there anything you want? Anything at all? You sound like a young man. When you finish with whatever business you have, you'll want to find a wife, start a family. I told you I have three daughters. If one of them would have you, would you accept?"

Jonathon thought about it for a moment. He had four years left as Bearskin. No girl would accept him as a husband right now. Even if one did, she would have to wait quite a long time before they could marry. And yet, Tredwin was right. He did want a wife and a family. If there was a way...

"Yes," he said. "If one of your daughters will agree to marry a creature like myself, I will betroth myself to her."

"Then come with me tomorrow," said Tredwin, "and I will introduce you to my daughters. Once they hear what you're doing for me, one of them will surely agree to marry you."

"We'll see," said Jonathon, but he shook Tredwin's outstretched hand.

#

The next day Jonathon left with Tredwin. The man lived in a large house outside the town. When he opened the door, they were greeted by three feminine cries of delight.

"Father! You're home!"

Three young women ran into the entrance hall of the house and threw their arms around Tredwin. He laughed and kissed their cheeks. "Yes, yes, I'm home. And I have good news, too. Our troubles are over."

"What?" One of the women took a step back from her father. "What do you mean, Father? I thought Mr. Selby ruined you."

"So he did, Susanna, but last night I met a man who has turned our fortunes around. He's agreed to give me all the money I need to rebuild the business."

"That's wonderful!" cried Susanna and hugged her father again. "Who is this man?"

"I brought him here with me," said Tredwin. He slipped out from under his daughters' arms and stepped back, revealing Jonathon. "This is Mr. Bearskin."

The two older girls screamed. Susanna, who looked to be the youngest, simply stood and stared at him. Then she spoke in a trembling voice. "Are you really the man who helped my father?" she asked.

"Yes I am," said Jonathon.

"Then I am very grateful to you, sir. I was worried when my father told us that Mr. Selby, his partner, stole his money. When he left last night, I thought he might not return." Her dark eyes filled with tears. "Thank you for bringing him back to us."

"You're very welcome, Miss Tredwin," said Jonathon with a slight bow.

"Is there anything we can do for you, to repay you for this?" she asked.

Before Jonathon could answer, Tredwin spoke up. "I've already arranged that with him," he said.

"How?" asked Susanna.

"I'll explain it all to you later, my dears," said Tredwin. "Right now, I was hoping we could have some tea and you could get to know Mr. Bearskin, our benefactor."

"Of course," said Susanna. She hurried off, followed by her older sisters. When they were out of sight, Tredwin approached Jonathon.

"Let me tell them about this in my own way," he said. "You can stay here with us for a few days, learn more about my girls, and then I'll let you ask one of them."

"They're your daughters," said Jonathon. "Do this as you see fit."

"Come with me then," said Tredwin and led him into a fine dining room where the girls had set up a fine tea for them.

Over the next three days, Jonathon spent time with the Tredwin family. He learned that the older girls were named Rachel and Priscilla. They were still leery of him and did not like being in the same room with him. The youngest, Susanna, seemed to have no fear at all. She talked with him, sat with him, and always made it clear that she liked him in spite of his appearance because of what he had done for her father.

On the third night, Tredwin called Jonathon and his daughters together. When they were seated, he explained the deal he and Jonathon had made. Jonathon watched the girls' faces as their father told them. Rachel's mouth dropped open. Priscilla's eyes widened and she looked disgusted. Susanna looked directly at Jonathon with an unreadable expression in her dark eyes.

"Will one of you take him, then?" asked Tredwin when he finished his explanation. "Remember that he saved my business, and he's a good man."

"How do you know he's even a man?" Rachel choked out.

"He looks like an animal," Priscilla added. "He'd probably eat us before he married us!"

Susanna glared at her sisters. "How can you say such a thing? Mr. Bearskin is obviously a man. An animal would not show such compassion for a human being. And from what I've seen of him these past days, he is a very, very good man." She turned to look at Jonathon. "If you will have me, Mr. Bearskin, I would be honored to be your wife. I like you very much and I'll never be able to thank you enough for saving my father."

Jonathon smiled at her. "The honor will be mine, Miss Tredwin," he said. "I must leave to finish my business; I will be gone for several years, but when I return, we will wed."

"I will wait for you then," she said, returning the smile.

#

Jonathon prepared to leave the next morning. Before he left, he gave Susanna one of the gold coins from his left pocket. "Keep this to remember me by," he said. "I'll come back in four years."

"I'll be here when you return," she said, slipping the coin into the pocket of her dress. "In the meantime, here is something for you to remember me by." She unclasped a golden bracelet with a heart-shaped charm on it from around her left wrist. "This bracelet was my mother's," she said. "My father gave it to her on their wedding day and she gave it to me before she died."

"I'll keep it safe," Jonathon said. He tried to put it around his own wrist, but his nails made it difficult. Susanna smiled and moved closer to help him. Once she had fastened the clasp, she stood up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his cheek.

"Go and be safe," she said with a smile. Jonathon returned the smile and left.

For four years Jonathon continued his wandering, and for four years Susanna waited for him to return. Her sisters teased her endlessly.

"Watch out," Rachel sneered on one occasion. "When he comes back he'll take you away and gobble you up like a bit of honeycomb."

"If you're lucky he'll take you to a nice cave off in the wilderness and let you live there for a while before he eats you," Priscilla added.

Susanna merely stared into the fire and rubbed the gold coin, which she kept in her pocket at all times.

At last four years were over. Jonathon pulled off the bearskin and threw it down. As soon as it hit the ground, the strange gentleman appeared. He was wearing the same shiny top hat and held the same cane with the crimson jewel on the top. He smirked at Jonathon.

"Very good, young man," he said. "You made it through the seven years. You kept our bargain."

"So now I'm free, right?" Jonathon asked. "I can cut my hair and beard and my nails? I can go on my way and it will be as if I never met you?"

"That was our deal, was it not? All you need to do now is give me back my coat."

"What? I thought I got to keep the coat?"

"I never said that," said the gentleman. "I said that at the end of the seven years you could take off the bearskin and go on your merry way, but first you have to give me back my coat."

"If I give it back, I'll lose my wealth. I'll have nothing. I'm betrothed to a young woman now. I need money to support her."

The gentleman smirked. "I suppose we could make another deal," he said. "I could give you the coat for good, but you'd have to put on the bearskin again. And this time you wouldn't be allowed to take it off. You could keep your wealth, but you'll look the way you do forever. Is that agreeable to you?"

Jonathon thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No," he said. "No, it's not." He kicked at the skin on the ground. "This thing has caused me enough pain in the past seven years. I'll never wear it again."

"Then give me back my coat," said the gentleman. "If I have to ask you again, I will be forced to take unpleasant actions against you."

Jonathon took off the red coat and toss it on the ground on top of the bearskin. "Take it and leave me alone," he said. "I never want to see you again."

"As you wish," said the gentleman. He picked up the red coat and put it on again. Then he turned on the spot and vanished. Jonathon didn't even notice. He was running down the road, feeling as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. Now all he had to do was clean himself up and then he could go back to Susanna.

#

A week later a very handsome man walked up the steps to the Tredwin house and knocked on the door. He introduced himself as Mr. Freewell and asked to see Mr. Tredwin and his daughters. He was duly shown into the dining room where the Tredwins were having lunch. The older daughters were delighted to meet him. Mr. Tredwin invited him to join them for the meal. Only the youngest Miss Tredwin seemed unhappy to see him.

Mr. Freewell explained that he had heard that Mr. Tredwin's daughters were quite beautiful and he was hoping to marry one of them. Both Rachel and Priscilla were eager to accept that offer, but Mr. Freewell said that he wanted to spend a few days with the girls to find out which of them he liked best. Mr. Tredwin agreed, saying that he reminded him of someone he had known. He allowed Freewell to stay in his house for three days and spend time with his daughters.

On the third day, Freewell officially asked Mr. Tredwin for the hand of his youngest daughter, Susanna, in marriage. Mr. Tredwin sorrowfully explained that Susanna was already betrothed to another man, someone who was supposed to come back for her. It was then that Freewell held up his left wrist. There was a golden bracelet on it with a heart-shaped charm.

Susanna leapt up from her chair and threw herself at him. "Oh, it's you!" she cried, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Yes," he said, pulling her close, "it's me. My name is Jonathon Freewell."

"I don't care what it is," she said. "I love you."

"I'm a poor man now," Jonathon said. "I haven't got a thing in the world to my name."

"That's not true," Susanna said. She pulled out the gold coin he had given her and pressed it into his hand. "This is yours."

"It's still not much," Jonathon said. "One gold coin won't give us hardly anything at all."

"I can fix that," said Mr. Tredwin with a smile. "I still need a new partner in my firm. I offered you the job once and you said that you had business. Now you've come back--will you consider taking the position?"

"If you'll take me," said Jonathon with a smile. "I know nothing about being a merchant, but I can learn."

"Then I'll gladly teach you," said Tredwin. "What better person to partner in my business than my son-in-law?"

So it was resolved. Jonathon Freewell officially became a partner in Tredwin's firm and he married Tredwin's youngest daughter Susanna. Both of Susanna's older sisters refused to attend the wedding. They left the house the day before without telling anyone where they were going. Soon they met a strange gentleman on the road. He was dressed all in red, including a red coat and a shiny red top hat. He held a cane with a crimson jewel on the top.

"Hello, my fine young ladies," he said. "You look upset. What seems to be the problem?"

"Our youngest sister is getting married before us," Rachel explained. "We're going to look for husbands of our own."

"I believe I can help you with that," said the gentleman with a strange smile. "Shall we make a deal?"


	3. Chapter 3: Bluebeard

Bluebeard

by: Tiger Lily21

A/N: This story gave me a lot of trouble. I still don't like it. It has the potential--I think--to turn into a novel. It also has the potential to become a Pride and Prejudice fan fiction. See if you can pick out some of the similarities. I didn't finish it till this morning, but hopefully today's story will flow more easily and I can get it out tonight. Today's story is the ever popular "Cinderella". In the meantime, enjoy Bluebeard. This version is less gruesome than the original fairy tale but I will warn you that there is some violence in here.

* * *

Elaine and Vivian Turner were sisters. Elaine was pale, blonde, and slender, with wide blue eyes and a shy disposition. Vivian was a wild, freckled thing with bright red hair and green eyes that flashed with mischief and intelligence. Despite their differences in appearance and personality, the sisters were very, very close.

They lived with their mother and father in a large house outside a small village. They kept no secrets from each other. When Elaine met a young man she liked in town, Vivian knew about it and encouraged her. When Vivian fought with one of the servants, Elaine knew about it and calmed her down. They balanced each other out. They expected to be close forever, to always be able to see each other. They had no idea that their relationship-and their lives--was about to be threatened.

#

It began on an ordinary day in the middle of July. Vivian and Elaine left the house early that morning for a walk. They strolled down the road from their house into the village, talking about Elaine's newest admirer, Tim the baker's son. He was a stocky, round-faced boy with hair like straw and a crooked smile. He had sent her a basket of his father's best pastries the day before. Elaine thought he was sweet and liked him very much; Vivian thought, as always, that he was not good enough for her sister but she admitted that he was better than some of the previous men who had liked Elaine. Both of them were hoping to see him in town that morning.

As the sisters entered the village they were met by Victoria Halperton, one of their friends. She rushed over as soon as she saw them, her silken skirts swishing. "Have you heard?" she asked.

"Heard what?" asked Elaine.

"There's a rich man visiting," Victoria said. "Lord Gregory Burnbaum. He came in last night in a coach and four and he's staying in the best room at the inn. He's hasn't been seen yet this morning but it's still early." She smirked. "No one knows exactly why he's here, but I think he must be looking for a wife. He's a widower, you know."

"A widower?" Elaine repeated. "What happened to his wife?"

Victoria shrugged. "I don't know exactly. She died somehow. It doesn't really matter. He was only married a few years and he's still young. And he's rich."

"I suppose you think you can snatch him for yourself then?" Vivian snapped.

"If I get a chance." Victoria's pale eyes glinted greedily. "It's not as if you'd want him."

"You're right, I wouldn't," Vivian said, her own eyes flashing. "I don't chase after men just because of their money."

Elaine laid a hand on her sister's arm. "Let's go, Vivian," she said quietly. She smiled at Victoria. "Thank you for telling us the news. Good day."

"Good day," said Victoria testily and stepped aside.

Vivian and Elaine continued down the street, Vivian fuming slightly. "Can you believe a girl could think like that? Going after a man she doesn't even know just because he has money? I never thought Victoria was so greedy!"

"She might not be greedy," said Elaine. "She's twenty-six; she may feel that this is her last chance to marry."

Vivian snorted. "So she goes after a mysterious rich man? Victoria's had nearly as many suitors as you, Ellie. She could have married any of them she wanted."

"We don't know all the details. We shouldn't judge."

Vivian snorted again but she dropped the subject. The sisters continued on down the street, heading for the bakery. Tim greeted them at the door.

"Hello Miss Elaine, Miss Vivian," he said.

"Hello, Tim," Vivian said.

Elaine stood beside her, blushing slightly. Vivian nudged her. Elaine looked at her feet and said quietly, "I just wanted to thank you for the lovely pastries you gave us, Mr. Baker."

"You're welcome, Miss Elaine." Tim flushed even more than Elaine. "Er, did you want to buy something today?"

"Um, I, er..." Elaine looked at Vivian, who nodded and gave her a slight push forward. "I'd like to buy some more of those lovely turnovers you sent," she said after a moment.

"O...of course," Tim stammered and stepped aside to let her into the bakery.

Vivian gave her sister a reassuring smile. "Go on, Ellie," she whispered. "I'll wait out here for you."

Elaine nodded and entered the bakery. Vivian leaned against the wall and waited. As she waited, she watched the townspeople coming and going. A group of young ladies were gathered around the inn. Probably waiting for that "mysterious gentleman", she thought sourly. Selfish, greedy, horrible girls!

"Foolish young ladies, aren't they?" said a cultured man's voice on her right. Vivian jumped and turned to face the speaker. She found herself staring into the face of a tall man in a dark suit and a top hat.

"Who are you?" Vivian asked.

"My name is Lord Gregory Burnbaum," the gentleman said. "Who are you, miss?"

"Vivian Turner," said Vivian shortly. "You're the man all those girls are waiting for."

"I know. I left the inn via the servants' stairs about half an hour ago. I've been watching them every since."

"Why?" asked Vivian.

Burnbaum smiled. "I'm afraid the rumors are true, Miss Turner. I came to your town to find a wife. These young ladies are possible candidates, though now that I have seen their foolish behavior I will most certainly not choose one of them."

"Am I a candidate then?" asked Vivian with a trace of venom in her voice. Something about this man made her uneasy. Maybe it was the way he spoke about the girls across the street, as if they weren't even people. Maybe it was the way that his dark eyes glinted as he looked at her.

"You might be," Burnbaum said. "You and the girl who went into the bakery. Who is she, by the way? A friend of yours?"

"My sister," said Vivian.

"Older or younger?"

"Older. By a year."

Burnbaum nodded and seemed to turn his attention back to the girls across the street. Vivian walked away to the other side of the bakery door. She tapped her foot impatiently and wished, for the first time that day, that her sister did not like Tim Baker quite so much.

It took Elaine half an hour to choose her turnovers in the bakery. Burnbaum walked away after about another ten minutes, much to Vivian's relief. When Elaine emerged from the bakery, blushing furiously but smiling.

"I assume you enjoyed yourself?" Vivian asked with raised eyebrows.

Elaine's blush deepened. "He's...he's a very nice young man," she said. "I like him very much."

"I'm glad," Vivian said. "Let's go home. I have something I need to tell you, but it should wait until we're at home."

Elaine looked at her sister in concern but all she said was, "Yes, let's go home. These turnovers will get cold soon."

The sisters turned and walked down the street together, one of them smiling and the other frowning.

#

When they arrived home, Vivian had every intention of taking her sister to the bedroom they shared and explaining all about her encounter with Lord Gregory Burnbaum. Unfortunately, before she could do anything of the sort the gentleman himself appeared with their mother in the entrance hall.

"Girls, meet Lord Burnbaum!"their mother gushed. "He's come to talk to your father about possibly marrying one of you. He's a very nice man."

The gentleman in question smiled and bowed to the girls. Elaine politely swept a curtsy and murmured, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lord Burnbaum." Vivian curtsied as well but kept silent.

Lord Burnbaum moved forward and took Elaine's hand. He pressed it to his lips. "Your mother told me how lovely her daughters were," he said, "but her descriptions fell short. You are beautiful."

Elaine dropped the packet of turnovers. "You are too kind, my lord," she said, her face turning far redder than it ever had when she was near Tim Baker.

"Indeed you are, sir," gushed her mother. "Come girls, my lord, let us go and find Mr. Turner. I am sure he'll be delighted about this."

She turned and swept away toward their father's study. Lord Burnbaum offered his arm to Elaine, who took it. Vivian followed them, scowling. Something about the man made her uneasy. Why had he not mentioned that he had met her already, and why had he kissed her sister's hand? The look on his face as his lips had touched it stuck in Vivian's mind. It was--there was no other word for it--hungry.

Vivian didn't have a chance to voice her feelings to anyone in her family. Her father met Lord Burnbaum and was immediately struck with his pleasant manners and fine speech. He invited him to stay for lunch, during which Lord Burnbaum doted on Elaine, and then asked the man into his study for most of the afternoon. Mrs. Turner kept both her daughters with her during that time and gushed over Lord Burnbaum. How handsome he was! How polite! How wealthy! What a fine catch he would be for either of them!

Lord Burnbaum stayed for supper. After the meal he asked to speak with Elaine privately. Mrs. Turner kept Vivian out of the sitting room until the two emerged. Lord Burnbaum had a very smug smile on his face. Elaine looked torn between tears and laughter. Lord Burnbaum bid the family good night and took his leave at last. As soon as the front door closed behind him Elaine said shakily, "Vivian, I must speak with you."

"Of course," said Vivian. She and Elaine retired to their bedroom. They sat together on the bed. Vivian clasped her sister's hands in hers. "What did he want?" she asked.

"Lord Burnbaum asked for my hand in marriage," said Elaine.

"What?" exclaimed Vivian. "He barely knows you! How can he want to marry you?"

"I don't know," said Elaine, her voice shaking. "I don't know why he wants to marry me, but he does, and...oh Vivian, I said yes."

For the first time in a very long time, Vivian Turner was completely speechless.

#

The preparations for Elaine's wedding to Lord Burnbaum began immediately. His Lordship was eager to wed and wanted everything arranged as quickly as possible. Within a fortnight of his arrival, the wedding clothes were chosen, the ceremony was arranged, and all the remained was for the actual wedding to take place. Vivian agreed to be her sister's maid of honor, but she hated every minute of it. She hated watching Burnbaum--who had taken up residence at the inn until the day of the wedding--interact with her sister, simpering and smirking and calling her "my dear" and "my darling". She hated seeing Tim Baker in town, walking around as if his heart had broken. She hated the fittings for the dresses and the never-ending debate over decorations. Most of all she hated seeing Elaine looking the way she did. The torn look had never left her face from the night she had accepted Burnbaum's proposal. She did not seem sure what to feel about any of it. She let their mother make all the decisions for her and she no longer confided in Vivian. She had withdrawn into herself further than ever before and it broke Vivian's heart to see it.

Elaine and Burnbaum were wed in the first week of August. It was a beautiful ceremony. Elaine looked like an angel in white and Burnbaum was as handsome as ever in his dark suit. They drove off in his coach and four directly after the ceremony. Vivian felt tears stinging her eyes as she watched the coach grow smaller and smaller in the distance, but she refused to let them fall.

She's not gone forever, she told herself. We'll write letters and I can go visit her. It's not as if she's going to vanish completely now that she's a married woman. It had to happen sometime...I just wish it hadn't happened with that particular man...

Three months passed without a word from Elaine. Vivian wrote letters nearly every other day but Elaine never answered. Vivian begged her father to let her go visit her sister but he refused.

"She's just married, Vivian," he said. "Let her have time with her husband. She's probably so busy entertaining people in his mansion and being his wife that she hasn't time to write to you."

Vivian was still worried. Elaine had promised to write and to visit. Perhaps Burnbaum was keeping her from doing either? Perhaps he was forbidding her from having any contact with her family at all! A knot of fear grew in Vivian's stomach, but there was nothing she could do. Her father would not have believed her if she told him her suspicions about Burnbaum. She could not tell anyone else; she didn't know or trust anyone else enough to disclose such a secret. She thought of telling Tim Baker for a while, but what could he do? No, she was simply going to take matters into her own hands and save Elaine on her own.

#

Vivian returned home that night and packed a few essential things in a bag. Then she slipped out to the stables and readied her father's best horse. She rode out as the moon rose and reached her destination just as the sun rose two mornings later. There she found a secluded spot, tied up her horse, and put on the clothes she had brought with her. Then she began the process to invading the residence of Lord Gregory Burnbaum.

Burnbaum lived in a fine old manor house in the middle of the country. It was built all of dark stone with front doors of fine polished wood and a door knocker in the shape of a dragon's head. At nine o'clock that morning a fine lady wearing a silk gown, a large feathered hat, a copious amount of expensive jewelry, and carrying a ridiculously large handbag appeared on the front step of that manor house and banged on the polished wood of the door with the dragon's head.

The butler opened the door and bowed low. "Good morning, madam," he said.

"Good morning," said the lady. "My name is Lady Isadora Delaney. I'm a cousin of the new Lady Burnbaum and I've come to visit her. Please tell her that I am here."

"I'm afraid that Lady Burnbaum is indisposed this morning," said the butler with another bow. "She is unable to receive any visitors." He made to close the door, but Lady Delaney caught it with a silk-gloved hand.

"Then perhaps you would be so kind as to bring me to Lord Burnbaum," she said. "I am anxious to meet my cousin's new husband as well, and perhaps he could tell me what exactly it is that ails my cousin."

"Of course," said the butler and stepped aside to allow her into the house. He shut the door behind her. "Please wait here, Lady Delaney. I will go and inform my master that you are here."

"Thank you," said Lady Delaney.

The butler hurried off. Once he was out of sight, Lady Delaney removed her hat, revealing Vivian's vibrant red curls. She looked around the entrance hall, taking in every detail. There was a large marble staircase to the right, a dimly lit hallway straight ahead and an apparently empty wall to the left. Casually, Vivian went to lean against the wall. She rested her head on it and was soon rewarded with the faint sounds of at least one crying woman on the other side. She had no time to figure out how to get to the other side of the wall, however, as she heard footsteps on the marble staircase. She jammed the hat back on her head and straightened up just as Lord Gregory Burnbaum, looking exactly the way he had three months ago, descended the staircase followed by the butler.

Vivian, now back in the character of Lady Delaney, curtsied. Lord Burnbaum bowed in response. "What an unexpected pleasure," he said.

Lady Delaney giggled. "The pleasure is all mine, Lord Burnbaum," she said. "My cousin Vivian told me all about the wonderful man her sister had married and I just had to come and see you for myself. I'm sorry I couldn't come to the wedding but I live so far away and it all happened so quickly! How is dear Elaine now? Your butler said she's indisposed. I hope she's not ill!"

Burnbaum shook his head. "No, indeed," he said. "She is merely tired. She hasn't been sleeping well, I'm afraid. I told her to stay in bed today and rest so she won't get ill."

"You are a good husband," Lady Delaney said with another giggle. "Cousin Elaine is very lucky to have you."

"On the contrary, Lady Delaney. I am lucky to have her."

Lady Delaney bit her lip and seemed unsure of something for a moment. Then she said, "I wonder, Lord Burnbaum, if you might show me around your home. I should so like to see it!"

"It would be an honor, Lady Delaney," said Lord Burnbaum and offered her his arm. She took it with a smile and he led her away from the foot of the staircase and into the corridor.

The tour of the house lasted for a solid two hours. When it was finished, Lady Delaney declared that she was famished and wouldn't it be nice if they could have luncheon together and get to know each other a bit better?

Of course it would, Burnbaum agreed. The two sat down in the grand dining hall and ate a sumptuous feast. Lord Burnbaum drank a great deal of wine and ate three helpings of everything on the table. By the end of the meal he could hardly keep his eyes open.

"You look tired, cousin," said Lady Delaney. "Why not rest for a while as your wife is doing? I must be going anyways. Thank you for a lovely visit. I will be sure to call again soon."

Lord Burnbaum grunted and laid his head down on the table. Within minutes he was snoring. Lady Delaney removed her hat again and hurried out of the dining hall, closing the doors behind her. She had exactly four hours to save her sister before the sleeping powder she had slipped Burnbaum wore off.

On the tour of the house Vivian had noticed a strange door on the second floor. She hurried up to it now and turned the handle. To her surprise it was unlocked, revealing a long, steep staircase that descended into nothingness. Vivian took a deep breath and started down.

She did not know how long she walked down the staircase. She tried counting the steps but lost count somewhere after two hundred. At this rate, she thought, I won't reach Elaine before he wakes up and then I'll be trapped with her!

At last she reached the end of the staircase and found herself in a dim room. The only light came from a single lantern hanging on one wall. Vivian reached up and took it. She was about to continue on when she heard the sound of crying.

"Who's there?" she called.

The crying continued. Vivian took a few cautious steps in the direction it seemed to be coming from. The crying grew louder. She called out again. "Who's there? Elaine? Is that you? It's Vivian."

A louder noise--a shout of surprise, perhaps?-and then her sister's voice echoed toward her.

"Vivian? What are you doing here?"

"I've come to rescue you. Are you all right?"

"No! Vivian, go back! He'll catch you!"

"No he won't. I drugged him. He's asleep."

"And you're really coming for me?"

"Yes. Keep talking so I can find you. Are you alone?"

"No. There are at least six others here."

"Others?"

"Other girls. Other wives he's had. They're all here with me. Hurry, Vivian!"

"I'm coming."

Vivian broke into a run as her sister's voice grew closer. Soon the lantern light glinted off something. Vivian drew closer and saw that it was the bars of a cell. A large and shiny lock held it shut. Inside, huddled on the floor, were her sister and six other women. All of them were painfully thin and pale in the poor light. Vivian gasped when she saw them and Elaine looked up. Her face brightened.

"It is you!" she cried and struggled to her feet. She stumbled to the bars and collapsed against them, one hand sticking through. Vivian grasped it and held it tightly.

"Oh Elaine, what has he done to you?"

Elaine shivered. "He's a monster," she whispered. "He marries a young woman and brings her back here and then when he gets tired of her he drags her down here. Some of the others have been here for years. Vivian, please, get us out!"

"Of course I will," said Vivian. She let go of her sister's hand and tugged at the lock. It wouldn't budge. "Is there a key somewhere?"

"Yes," said one of the other women. "On the wall somewhere. He hangs it on a nail."

Vivian looked. She spotted the key and plucked it off the wall. It fit the lock, which snapped open. Vivian flung it off and pulled the cell door open. Elaine slumped on the floor. Vivian set down the lantern and took both of her hands, hauling her sister to her feet. Elaine leaned against the wall.

"Help the others," she said. Vivian nodded and went into the cell. She helped the other women to their feet.

"Can all of you walk?" she asked. "You can lean against the walls or against me but you need to be able to make it up the stairs."

"We'll manage," one of the other women said. "Show us the way out."

Vivian bent over and picked up the lantern again, then led the way slowly back through the winding corridor to the staircase. They had to stop several times and Vivian worried that by the time they reached the top of the steps they would find Burnbaum waiting for them, ready to drag them all back down the stairs and lock them in the cell again.

"I won't let that happen," she murmured. "I won't."

Burnbaum was not at the top of the stairs, but the journey was only half over. They had to make it back to the ground floor now, and get out of the house. Vivian had no idea how long they had been down in the dungeon or how much time they had left. She turned to the women. "We have to hurry," she said. "Are you sure you can all make it?"

All of the women nodded, though they were all leaning heavily on the walls and on each other.

"We have to get out of here," Elaine breathed. "We'll all get out, one way or another."

Vivian nodded. "Right then. Keep following me. There's another set of stairs and then all we have to do is go right out the front doors. After that...I don't know what we'll do. I'm afraid I didn't plan for all of you. I thought it was only Elaine."

"Worry about that later," said Elaine. "Right now we ought to hurry. Show us where to go."

"Just follow me." Vivian led the way again, back through the second floor hallways and then down the winding marble staircase. It was slow going. Vivian kept a wary eye out for Burnbaum and listened for his heavy footsteps coming toward them, but they managed to reach the bottom of the stairs without trouble.

"We're nearly out," Vivian whispered to women. "The front doors are right there. Get outside and wait for me. I'll figure out what to do next."

The other women started for the door but Elaine caught her sister's arm. "Where are you going, Vivian?"

"I'm going to make sure that Burnbaum doesn't wake up before we have a plan for getting back home," said Vivian, brandishing the handbag she still held. "Go on. I'll join you soon, I promise."

Elaine squeezed her sister's arm slightly. "Be careful," she whispered.

"I will," Vivian whispered back. "Go."

Elaine made her way slowly to the door, which the other women had managed to pull open slightly. Vivian waited until all of them had slipped out before walking down the hallway to the dining hall where--hopefully--Burnbaum still slept.

To her surprise, the doors of the dining hall were open slightly. Vivian's breath caught in her throat. I have to do this, she told herself. For my sister. She pushed the doors open the rest of the way and walked in.

Burnbaum was awake and waiting for her. He smirked and walked toward her, holding something in his hand. "What a clever girl you are, Miss Vivian," he said. "I never would have guessed you has such a mind in you."

"I never would have guessed that you had such a wicked heart," she retorted.

Burnbaum's smirk grew. "Ah, but I think you did," he said. "Why else would you have come here in disguise and slipped me a sleeping drug if you did not know that I was up to no good in regards to your sister?"

Vivian was taken aback. "You know about the drug?"

"Of course I know," Burnbaum snapped, advancing on her. "I've studied enough and lived enough in my life to know what a sleeping drug tastes like and what the aftereffects of a drugged sleep feel like. Really, that was your greatest mistake, Miss Turner. If you had only used something stronger than a sleeping draft you might have been able to escape without a problem. As it is, well, you've taken away my wife so I'm afraid I will simply have to keep you here in her place. Permanently."

He was right in front of her now and she could see what he held in his hand. It was a thin silver dagger and it was poised right at her heart.

"Most of the time I keep my wives around for a while," he said with a wicked smile. "I like the pleasure they give me. But eventually they bore me and so I place them downstairs where you found your sister. Sometimes, though, they irritate me so much that I simply have to...do away with them. And now I am going to do away with you."

He lowered the dagger. Vivian dropped to the floor at the last second. She felt the dagger slice into her shoulder. Burnbaum shouted with rage as she crawled away from him and stood up again.

"You should not have done that!" he cried. "You'll only make it more painful, Vivian. Hold still and it will all be over in a moment."

He advanced on her again, but before he bring the knife down for another strike, Vivian threw what she thought was her large handbag, which contained the flask of sleeping potion. What she threw instead, she realized later, was the lantern that she was still carrying from the dungeon. It hit Burnbaum square in the chest then fell to the floor and shattered. Orange flames began to spread around him and over him. His pants had caught on fire and it was rapidly licking up the rest of his body. He screamed in pain and outrage, rooted to the spot, as Vivian ran, the fire close behind her and the wound in her shoulder throbbing.

#

Vivian ran back up the corridor into the entrance hall and out the front doors. There, to her surprise, she was caught in the strong arms of a Royal Guard. There was at least half a dozen of them on the lawn of the Burnbaum mansion. Each guard had one of the former wives on his horse with him. Tim Baker was there too, holding Elaine in front of him on his own horse. Vivian smiled at her sister before fainting dead away.

Later Vivian learned that it was her parents who had sent the guards. She had been missing for three days, after all, and they had been worried. When the guards heard that they thought she might have gone to find Burnbaum, they went out to look for her. They had been searching for Burnbaum for years. Tim Baker had insisted on going with them to rescue Elaine.

The manor burned to the ground with Burnbaum still in it. No one mourned him, but they did mourn the young women he had killed in that house. The young women who had been saved were taken home to their families and managed to recover from their time in Burnbaum's dungeon.

Vivian's shoulder healed in time but she always had a scar. She didn't mind it and neither did Sir Evan Colton, the guard who had caught her when she came out of the house, who became first her good friend and then her husband. He was quite impressed with her act of bravery in going to save her sister, and with her disguise as Lady Delaney. He arranged for her to become a spy. They worked together on many cases and found that they made such a good team it only made sense to get married.

Elaine eventually married Tim Baker, as Vivian had always hoped she would. The sisters remained close friends for the rest of their lives, though they had to start keeping secrets. After all, Vivian could not tell anyone--not even her sister--when she was on a mission, and Elaine found there were some things about being a baker's wife that she did not want to share. Even so, they both lived happily ever after.


	4. Chapter 4: Cinderella unfinished

**Cinderella**

**by: Tiger Lily21**

**A/N: This story is not finished. I started it yesterday but didn't get a chance to finish it. Heck, I didn't even get into the main part of the story yet! I'd finish it today but I haven't written today's story yet and I want to get that one done. I'm leaving this one unfinished. After NaNoWriMo is over I'll go back and finish it. For now I'm including an outline at the end of where I intended it to go and I hope you'll enjoy what I have so far. Look for "The Frog Prince" sometime tonight hopefully. Thanks to those who have been faithfully reading and reviewing. You inspire me to keep going! **

* * *

Christine Lewis loved the kitchen. She loved the sounds and smells. She loved the way everything fit together, the way all the people moved in harmony. She loved the way she felt when she was kneading dough or stirring a pot or even just scrubbing dishes. The rhythm of it all was just beautiful. It was a song--the song of the kitchen--and Christine loved it.

The only problem was that Christine was not usually supposed to be in kitchen. She was the daughter of a knight, Sir Nathaniel Lewis, and was, at ten years of age, expected to be a young lady. Young ladies did not work in the kitchen. They did not enjoy spending all their time up to their elbows in flour. They did not talk to the servants and convince the cook to let them help out whenever possible. Most of all, they did not skip their lessons with their governess in order to help in the kitchen.

At least, that's what her governess, Lady Olivia, told her when she found out that Christine had been in the kitchen instead of at her embroidery lesson.

"That's the third time this week I've caught you in there," Lady Olivia said. "I have told you time and time again, Miss Christine. Your father hired me to teach you how to be a lady. Ladies absolutely do not spend time in the kitchen. They have servants for that."

Christine frowned and picked at a bit of bread dough that had dried on her hands. She had tried to explain this to her governess several times before, but the woman did not seem to understand. Choosing her words carefully, she said, "But Lady Olivia, you said that a lady ought to find one area where she can excel. I don't excel at embroidery or singing. I'm hopeless at etiquette and I'm not much good at dancing. I'm very, very good at baking. I might even excel at it. Shouldn't I be allowed to practice?"

Lady Olivia looked absolutely horrified for a moment. Then she recovered herself and said with a haughty sniff, "I meant that a lady ought to find one of the ladylike arts to excel in, Miss Christine. Baking is not one of the ladylike arts. If you would come to your lessons you might improve in all of those areas and then you might find the one where you are meant to excel."

"Yes, but--" began Christine, but Lady Olivia held up a hand.

"I will have no more talk of your going down to the kitchens," she said. "If I catch you down there one more time, I will tell your father and insist that he punish you. Now come with me. It is time for your music lesson."

"Yes, Lady Olivia," said Christine. She hung her head and followed her governess from the nursery to the music room. No instrument could ever create something as beautiful as the song of the kitchen, but she knew that it was no use thinking about it now. She would simply have to wait for another chance to escape there again.

#

It took Christine another week and a half to escape to the kitchens again. Lady Olivia kept her under an almost constant watch but she managed to slip away one afternoon when her governess had finally given up her vigilant observation in favor of a nap. She arrived in the kitchen to find Maud, the head cook, kneading dough at the counter. Maud did not look up from her kneading.

"Put on an apron, take a dishrag and go help Pamela with the scrubbing," she said.

Christine did as she was ordered. Once she was installed at the sink, drying the pots that Pamela, the scullery maid, had cleaned, Maud spoke again.

"It's good to have you back, lass. We were afraid you wouldn't be coming again."

"So was I," Christine confided. "Lady Olivia nearly took to sleeping in my room at night. She keeps her door open so she can hear me if I get up in the middle of the night. As if I'd come down here at night."

"That woman has no sense of what goes on in a kitchen," said Maud with a snort. "I don't think she's ever been in one longer than to drag you out by your ears."

Christine giggled. "Maybe she's afraid that if she stays any longer you'll put her to work and she'll have to act unladylike."

"Unladylike!" Maud snorted again. "Why your mamma was a kitchen girl and she was more of a lady than that old bat!"

Christine nodded. "I wish Mamma was here now. She could tell Lady Olivia to let me come down here."

"If your mamma was here you wouldn't need that woman. You'd have your mamma instead, and she would have had you down here helping us as soon as you were old enough to do anything useful."

"You think so?" Christine asked dreamily.

"Of course. I knew your mamma. She was a good cook and a good woman. She had hair the color of raw honey and a heart of gold, your mamma did, and she'd hate to see you kept out of here the way you are." Christine thought she heard Maud give a sniff, as if she was crying, but a moment later the cook's voice was as cheerful and bossy as ever. "Get to work on those pots now. I want as many of them done as you can get before you're dragged away again."

Christine obeyed and let herself get immersed in the beauty of the song of the kitchen. It flowed over her, drawing her into a world of her own. She was so lost in that world that she jumped nearly a foot in the air when Lady Olivia's piercing voice echoed through the room, shattering the melody.

"Miss Christine! I have told you a hundred times not to come down here! I ought to lock you up in your room forever for playing such a trick on me! As it is I'm taking you to your father so I can prove to him what a horrible little troublemaker you are!"

Christine let the pot she was drying fall into the sink with a splash. She turned to face her governess. "I'm very sorry," she said. "Please don't tell Papa."

"I most certainly will tell him! This is the last straw! Come with me. Now!" Lady Olivia grabbed Christine by the arm and dragged her from the kitchen. Christine looked back to see Maud and Pamela both giving her sympathetic looks.

Lady Olivia pulled Christine up the stairs to the fourth floor of the manor. They stopped in front of her father's office door. Lady Olivia knocked with her free hand. A moment later, Sir Nathaniel's voice came from the other side. "Who is it?"

"It's Lady Olivia," said that lady. "I must speak with you, sir. It's about your daughter."

"Come in then," said Sir Nathaniel.

Lady Olivia opened the door and pushed Christine in ahead of her. Sir Nathaniel sat at his desk. He was a tall, thin man with a long face and dark brown hair that was quickly turning gray. He stared at his daughter and Lady Olivia with large, solemn brown eyes. "What seems to be the problem now, Lady Olivia?" he asked. "Christine, why are you wearing an apron?"

"She was in the kitchen again, sir," said Lady Olivia before Christine could answer. "I caught her there not five minutes ago. After I deliberately forbade her to go down there again. I know you don't like her working down there, sir, associating with the servants. I've tried my best to dissuade her from it but she continues to sneak away when my back is turned. I insist that you punish her this time, sir. She needs to learn a lesson."

Sir Nathaniel looked at her for a moment and then transferred his attention to Christine, who was staring very deliberately at her feet. "Christine," he said, gently, "look at me, child."

Christine looked up. "Are you angry, Father?" she whispered.

"No," he said. "No, child, I am not angry at you. I do wish you would obey Lady Olivia. I hired her to care for you. I hoped that you would learn to love her. But I can see that you haven't. I can also see that she has not done her job correctly either."

Lady Olivia spluttered indignantly. "Not done my job? Sir, I have done my very best to teach your daughter to be a lady. I have done my job. It is the girl who is the problem!"

Sir Nathaniel shook his head. "I did not hire you just to teach her," he said. "I hired you to care for her, to love her. You have not. Therefore, I am dismissing you. Pack your things and leave by tomorrow night."

"What?" Lady Olivia turned pale. "Sir, you cannot dismiss me! I have done my job! I have done the very best I could! You cannot make me leave!"

"I can and I am," said Sir Nathaniel sternly. "Leave my office at once and begin packing."

"Yes, sir." Lady Olivia turned and walked to the door. Then she turned abruptly and said, "I wish you luck finding another governess for that child. You may be sure that I will not recommend anyone to you." With that she flounced out of the office and shut the door behind her.

Christine remained in front of her father's desk. He looked at her with a strange expression on his face. For a moment they were silent. The he spoke, hesitantly at first, as if he was not entirely sure of what he was saying.

"Christine," he said, "I have not been a good father to you. I have always passed you off to other people. I trusted your godmother to care for you until two years ago and then I trusted Lady Olivia to do the same. Neither of them gave you what you truly need. I have not paid you as much attention as I should have, and I have not given you the love you deserve. You are...the picture of your mother. She would have loved you very much. You need a mother, Christine, and I can see that a governess is not working. So I have decided to marry again. You will have a new mother in only a few weeks."

Christine stared at her father in shock. "A...a new mother?" she squeaked out at last.

"Yes," said her father, smiling for the first time. "Her name is Lady Meriah Clarborough and she is a fine, wealthy woman. She has two daughters of her own. I'm sure you'll all be the best of friends."

"Will she like me?" Christine asked.

"Of course she will."

"Will she let me help in the kitchens if I want to?" asked Christine cautiously.

"I'm sure she will," said her father. "We wed in three weeks and then she and her daughters will be coming here to live with us. Then we will be a real family." He smiled again and held out his arms to her. Christine moved into them and let her father embrace her for the first time in years. She pushed any anxiety she had about her new stepfamily aside and reveled in this new affection from her father. There would be time to worry later.

#

Three weeks passed quickly. Lady Meriah left in a huff the next day and Sir Nathaniel left to wed and bring back his bride and her daughters a week later. Christine was left in the care of her godmother, Elizabeth Claiborne, until his return. Miss Claiborne, or Aunt Elizabeth as Christine called her, had been Christine's mother's best friend and fellow servant at the palace. She had come to live and serve Sir Nathaniel and his wife and then to care Christine when her mother died. She was a kind and clever woman who told wonderful stories. When Sir Nathaniel decided to hire a governess for Christine instead, Aunt Elizabeth had left the household and opened a shop in the town nearby. She and Christine spent a delightful two and a half weeks helping Maud in the kitchen, exploring the grounds, and sitting by the fire to talk. Christine half-wished that the time would never end. On the other hand, she was eager to meet her new stepmother and stepsisters.

On the morning that Sir Nathaniel was supposed to return, Aunt Elizabeth took Christine aside and pulled something out of her skirt pocket. Christine looked at it. It was a necklace, a small golden rose pendant on a delicate chain. "This was your mother's," Aunt Elizabeth explained. "She gave it to me for safe-keeping and told me to give it to you when I thought you were ready. I think you're ready now. I also think you'll need it soon."

"Why?" asked Christine.

"Because things are going to be changing, my darling. You have a new mother and sisters, and I am going to have a new family too. You see, I'm getting married."

"Married?" Christine repeated. "To who?"

"To a dear old friend, Jacob Porter. We knew each other years ago and he walked into the shop the other day and we started speaking and, well, dear, he's asked me to marry him and I've said yes. And we're leaving town soon. We won't be coming back for a long time."

"But Aunt Elizabeth, I'll miss you," said Christine, her eyes filling with tears.

"I'll miss you too, dearheart. But I'll come back someday, I promise. And as long as you wear the pendant, you'll always have a way to remember me, and your mother. Go on, dear. Take it." She pressed it into Christine's hand and gently closed her fingers around it.

"May I put it on?" Christine asked, all tears gone at the sight of the beautiful shiny pendant in her palm. "May I show Papa when he comes back?"

"You may put it on," said Aunt Elizabeth. "Give it to me and I'll help you." Christine obeyed. Aunt Elizabeth knelt and undid the clasp of the necklace. She fastened it around Christine's neck. Then she said seriously, "You must not show this to anyone, Christine. Not even your Papa. It will only make him think of your mother and that will make him sad. Let this be our secret."

"All right," said Christine, now excited to have a secret. Aunt Elizabeth smiled.

"I think I hear them coming," she said. "Let's go out and meet them. And remember, don't show anyone the necklace."

Christine rushed out of the house. Aunt Elizabeth followed behind at a more moderate pace. They stood on the front steps together and waited.

The carriage rolled up the drive entirely too slowly for Christine's taste. She was bouncing up and down in impatience. At last it pulled up in front of the house and the footman opened the door. Sir Nathaniel exited first, a wide smile on his face.

"Papa!" Christine cried, running to him and flinging her arms about his waist. "Welcome home!"

"Hello, Christine," said her father, giving her a quick squeeze before reaching his hand into the carriage to help his bride.

Lady Meriah Clarborough was the most beautiful woman Christine had ever seen. She had silk hair the color of fire that she had pinned up in elaborate curls on top of her head. She wore a gown of sky blue velvet that matched her eyes and a gold pin at her throat with a strange black jewel set in it. She smiled at Christine and spoke in a voice as smooth and sweet as honey.

"Hello there. You must be Christine. Your father has told me all about you. I feel as if I know you already. I hope we can be good friends."

Christine beamed with pleasure and swept her best curtsy, glad for the first time that Lady Meriah had worked so hard to teach her how. Lady Meriah smiled at her again and looked into the carriage. "Daphne, Philippa, come along, darlings. Come out and meet your new sister Christine."

Two girls, one about Christine's age with Lady Meriah's fiery curls, the other a bit younger with strawberry blonde locks, stepped out of the carriage and stood by Lady Meriah. Christine curtsied again. The girls curtsied in response. Lady Meriah beamed at them, but she spoke to Christine. "These are my daughters," she said. "This is Daphne. She is eleven years old." She indicated the older girl. "And this is Philippa. She just turned eight." She laid a gentle hand on the younger girl's head.

"Pleased to meet you," said Christine.

"Pleased to meet you," Daphne and Philippa echoed in perfect unison.

"Shall we go inside and get you all settled, then?" asked Sir Nathaniel, offering his arm to Lady Meriah.

"Of course. Come along my loves. Come Christine."

The three girls followed the adults into the house. Christine paused briefly to look at her godmother, who was still standing on the steps. Aunt Elizabeth smiled at her and mouthed, "They're lovely." She pressed her fingers to her mouth and blew Christine a kiss. Then she walked away.

Christine loved her new stepfamily, for the first few months anyways. Lady Meriah treated her kindly and even let her help Maud in the kitchen. She complimented her on her manners and on the food she helped make. Daphne and Priscilla too were extremely kind to Christine. The three of them played together whenever Christine wasn't in the kitchen. She showed them all her favorite places in the manor and on the grounds. She was delighted with them. For the first time in her life, she had a real family.

Then everything changed. Sir Nathaniel fell ill suddenly and though the doctors did everything they could, he only grew worse. Within a year of his marriage to Lady Meriah, he died. Christine was heart-broken but she expected her stepfamily to comfort her. They did nothing of the sort. Indeed, they did exactly the opposite. They shut Christine out completely. Lady Meriah locked her in her room for days. She was not allowed to attend the funeral. Her meals were delivered but the servant never stayed to speak with her.

After a week Lady Meriah herself came to the door. "Come with me," she said, all traces of honey gone from her voice.

Christine followed without question. Lady Meriah led her into the downstairs parlor, where Daphne and Philippa were waiting on a sofa. Lady Meriah sat in an armchair. Christine remained in the doorway. Lady Meriah looked over all of them, her gaze soft when it rested on her daughters and hard when it turned to Christine. After a moment she spoke in a positively poisonous voice.

"Our household has changed. Sir Nathaniel is dead and with his death, most of his fortune has been taken away from us. Because of this, we are going to have to make many changes so that we may go on living in a semi-dignified manner. First of all, we will have to let all the servants go. We cannot afford to pay them. This means that someone else will have to do all the housework."

"Not me, Mother," Daphne interrupted.

"Not me," Philippa echoed.

"Of course not you, darlings," Lady Meriah said gently. Then her voice turned poisonous again. "No, we will give the household chores to Christine. We already know she does not mind working in the kitchen. I am sure she will find the other work just as enjoyable." She focused her gaze on Christine. "From this day forth your rooms will belong to Daphne. You will sleep in the servants' quarters in the kitchen. You will do all the chores and you will do them well or I will throw you out to fend for yourself. I am only keeping you because I told your father that I would make sure you were provided for. If you disobey me, I will have no qualms in breaking that promise. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Stepmother," said Christine.

Lady Meriah's face twisted strangely. "Do not use that word again," she said. "From now on you will address me as 'Lady Lewis' or 'my lady'. My daughters are 'Lady Daphne' and 'Lady Philippa' or 'my lady'. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lady," said Christine.

"Good. Now be off with you. Go down to the servants' quarters and get used to being there."

"Yes, my lady."

Christine turned and walked out of the room. She trudged slowly down to the servants' quarters, where she found Maud, Pamela, and the others packing their bags. Christine ran to Maud, who held her as she cried.

"I've left all the cooking gear for you," she said as the little girl wept into her shoulder. "I've left all my recipes too. You're your mamma's daughter. She's be proud of you today, and she'll be even prouder of you as you grow up. Be a good girl and don't give up hope. Who knows? Maybe I'll see you again one day."

Christine sniffled and looked up into the cook's face. "I'll miss you," she said.

"I'll miss you too. I have to go now."

Maud pressed a kiss to Christine's forehead and gave her one last smile. Then she and the other servants left the servants' quarters. Christine watched them go. When she could no longer see them, she sank to the floor and burst into tears again.

#

Seven years passed slowly. Christine grew into a young woman with long hair the color of raw honey and her father's deep brown eyes. She learned to do all the household chores and still loved to bake, but it wasn't the same without Maud and the others. The song of the kitchen was not meant to be made by only one person.

Daphne and Philippa grew up as well. Daphne's fiery hair turned to a dark auburn and her eyes became the pale green of a sour apple. Philippa's hair remained the same strawberry blonde and her eyes were the same blue as her mother's. Both of them were slender and pale and considered quite beautiful by the young men in the town. Most of them were in love with one of them. What they didn't know was that both of them were absolutely, completely spoiled and proud as peacocks.

As for Lady Meriah, she did not change much at all. She remained as cruel as ever toward Christine while giving her own daughters anything and everything they demanded. Her hair was still the color of fire and she wore the same pin with the odd black stone set in it.

All three of them took delight in sending Christine on errands, often asking for ridiculous things that took hours to find. So it was that Christine was sent off one morning in early May to find the ingredients for three dozen strawberry tarts and three ducks for roasting that would have to be made in time for a dinner party that Lady Meriah was holding the next evening, enough chartreuse silk to make Daphne a new gown, and a pound of peppermint candy for Priscilla who had a notorious sweet tooth.

Christine did not mind going on errands; it meant that she was allowed to leave the house for a time.

#*#

**So here's a basic summary of what happens next: **

**_Christine goes to the village. She meets a young man who is shopping for ingredients as well. They discuss baking and it turns out he likes it as much as she does. He tells her he works at the palace and that he hopes to see her again sometime. Christine gives him some vague answer that isn't really a yes or a no and goes on her way, still thinking about him. _**

**_The next day a royal messenger comes with an invitation to the Summer Ball, which will be held in three weeks' time. All eligible young maidens are invited and the crown prince will be there and probably chose a bride. The household flies into an uproar. Daphne and Philippa both request ridiculously complicated dresses that they want Christine to make for them. She goes to town again to buy the appropriate material and runs into the young man again. His name is Peter. They discuss the ball and he asks if she'll be coming. She says she doesn't think so. He is disappointed. _**

**_Three weeks pass entirely too quickly and the night of the ball arrives. The stepfamily leaves and Christine sits in the kitchen. She thinks about the ball--specifically about how Peter will be there and she'd like to see him again. She thinks about it. She could go, if she could find a nice dress and a way to get there. She goes upstairs to search the attic, where she knows some of her mother's old clothes are kept. She finds a dress but it doesn't fit her. She realizes that her stepfamily took the horses to pull the carriage as well, so she wouldn't be able to ride there. She'd have to walk...It's no use. _**

**_Christine breaks down and cries. She rubs her little rose pendant and wishes her mother or Aunt Elizabeth were there to help her. Just then the doorbell rings. She goes down and answers it. It's Aunt Elizabeth (her godmother, not her aunt, by the way). She's come back, and she seems to know exactly what Christine needed because she brought along a beautiful ball gown, a pair of golden slippers, and her nice carriage. She helps Christine get ready and they head for the ball._**

_Christine enters late. Everyone looks up when she's announced and the crown prince himself comes over and asks her to dance. He quickly finds out that Christine isn't all that good at dancing though; she steps on his feet and he leaves in a huff. Another young man approaches her. It's Peter. He asks her to dance but she's too embarrassed so they go for a walk out in the gardens instead and talk for hours. _

_After this I'm a bit divided on where to go. Either the prince will come out and tell Peter to come back in, revealing him as the younger prince, and Christine will run away, OR the prince will come out with Daphne and Christine runs to avoid being recognized, OR Christine and Peter go back in just before midnight and are seen by Lady Meriah, who is very angry and reveals Christine as a servant girl and Christine runs..._

_Whichever scenario I end up using, Christine runs and loses a shoe. There's a grand commotion about how the prince wants to find and marry the girl who belongs to the golden slipper. When he finally comes to Christine's house it turns out that it's not the older prince (Prince Charles) but the younger one (Prince Peter, aka Christine's friend Peter). He does the whole trying the shoe on the stepsisters thing and it doesn't fit and asks if there are any other ladies. Christine has been locked in the servants' quarters. Peter figures it out (how I don't know; maybe she screams really loud or something) and gets her out. She tries on the shoe. It fits. Peter proposes and she accepts and they go off together and get married and they work down in the palace kitchens whenever they want to, making the song of the kitchen together. _

_So yeah. That's basically where it'll go, I hope. I have a vague thought about Lady Meriah and her weird black pin but I'm not sure if I'll use it. Let me know what you think of all of this and I'm really sorry it's not done. _


	5. Chapter 5: The Frog Prince

**The Frog Prince**

**by: Tiger Lily21**

**A/N: Yesterday's story, finished just today. Grr...I'm going to try to finish today's story--"The Fisherman and His Wife"--today, before midnight. It should be short. Anyways, I like this story pretty well. The only thing I can think of that I'll probably change in March is Prince Richard. I love the boy dearly and he's important for another story coming later in the month, but he just doesn't do much here. I'm kind of wondering if I should just cut him out...Let me know what you think. **

* * *

Once upon a time a king had two daughters. The older princess was named Portia Rebecca Isabelle Natalie Cecelia Emmeline Suzanne Sophia and she was the loveliest princess you ever saw. Her hair was the color of gold and her eyes were the color of sapphires. She was beautiful and graceful, but very proud and very selfish. Her sister paled in comparison. Her name was Carolina. She had hair the color and consistency of corn silk and her eyes were the color of the water in the courtyard pond. She was short in stature and temper, but she had a good heart and a quick mind.

When people were being polite about how the sisters interacted with each other, they said that they often disagreed. When people were not being polite, they said that they fought like cats and dogs and had opposite opinions on everything. Portia liked to be indoors, sitting quietly and doing appropriate, ladylike things such as embroidering or playing the harpsichord. Carolina couldn't stand to be inside. She loved to be outdoors, helping the gardeners or wandering about the palace grounds. Portia longed for a handsome, wealthy prince to marry. Carolina merely longed for a friend.

Most of the time Carolina and Portia avoided each other. Carolina spent every moment she possibly could out in the grounds, usually by the courtyard pond. She loved looking into the green water and watching the fish swimming about. She loved the water lilies that grew in it and floated on the surface. Most of all she loved to take off her shoes and stockings--when no one was watching her--and dip her toes in the cool water. Hardly anyone came to the pond. It was tucked away in a corner of the grounds under an old willow tree. As such, it became Carolina's spot, the place where she could go when she needed to be alone or to share her secrets. She did not mind telling her secrets to the fish and the water lilies and the willow tree. She knew that none of them would tell anyone else.

In the year that Carolina was twelve and Portia was sixteen, Prince Walter of Jussen came to visit their father and to court Portia. He brought along a present for Portia: a beautiful ball made of solid gold. Portia loved it. Carolina thought it was ridiculous. What could you do with a ball of gold? It was too heavy to throw and catch easily. It would dent if it was dropped on a hard floor. It was completely useless, except perhaps as a paperweight or a doorstop and then it might roll away.

Carolina made the mistake of voicing this opinion to her older sister, who flew into a rage.

"You're just jealous!" she shouted. "You wish he'd brought you a present too!"

"Jealous?" repeated Carolina. "That's almost as ridiculous as that ball! Why should I be jealous? I don't like him! He only gave you that ball to show you how rich he is. He's here to court you because he wants to marry you so he can have more money."

Portia gave a wordless shriek of rage and rushed at her sister. Carolina took off running with Portia in hot pursuit. Without thinking, Carolina ran to the pond. Portia followed her, still clutching the golden ball in one hand. She reached the pond. Carolina retreated around it but soon found her back against the old willow tree. Portia advanced on her, raised one hand in the air--

Carolina never found out what her sister planned to do with that hand. Just as Portia swung her hand forward, she gave a little shriek and turned around.

"My ball!" she cried, pointing into the pond. "My ball fell in there!"

Carolina looked around her sister at the pond. There were ripples spreading in the water and something glinted below the surface. She thought about saying, "I told you that ball was useless. Now it's just a decoration for the fish" but decided against it. Instead she knelt at the edge on the edge of the pool and reached down into it, trying to fish the ball out. It was no use. It was too far out in the pond for her to reach. If she leaned over anymore she would fall in. After a few moments she looked up at her sister.

"I can't get it."

Portia drew herself up to her full height and put on her most regal face. "I suggest you find a way to get it," she said, "or I will tell Father that you made me lose my present from Walter and he'll make you pay to get me a new one. You have until supper tonight to bring it back to me." With that she turned on her heel and swept away.

Carolina leaned back on her heels and sighed. "What am I supposed to do now?" she asked the pond and the willow tree. For the first time, she received an answer.

"I'm afraid you really can't do anything."

#

Carolina jumped. "Who said that?"

"I did," said the same odd, croaking voice. It seemed to come from one of the lily pads. Carolina looked carefully and saw a small green frog, nearly the same color as the large lily pad he sat on, looking at her.

"Did you really talk?" she asked.

"Of course I did," said the frog. "Have you never met a talking frog before?"

Carolina shook her head. "I'm afraid not."

"Ah, well, it's understandable really. There aren't many of us hopping around. To tell you the truth, I'm the only one I've ever met." He gave a croak that might have been a chuckle. Carolina was speechless. The frog hopped to the next lily pad, then to the next one and finally took a great leap onto the grass at Carolina's feet. He looked up at her.

"Now, as I was saying, I don't think you can do anything about that ball. This pond is deeper than you'd think and gold is heavy. It's probably sunk right to the bottom at the deepest point. Unless you want to go swimming, you probably wouldn't be able to reach it."

"What do you suggest I do then?" asked Carolina, trying to pretend that she was talking to a human and not a frog.

"I don't know," said the frog. "I didn't take the time to think about how you could get the ball, only that there was no way you could."

"So I should just go back to the castle and tell Portia that I'll buy her a new golden ball?"

"You could do that, but I don't see why you would want to waste your money. Useless sort of thing to have around, a golden ball. Why did your sister have one anyways?"

"Prince Walter gave it to her," said Carolina with a sigh.

The frog flicked his tongue out. Carolina didn't look close enough to see if he had caught a bug. He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again.

"I suppose," he said thoughtfully, "that I could dive down and get it for you. After all, I can swim quite well and I don't mind getting wet."

"Could you lift the ball, though?" asked Carolina before she thought about it. "You said yourself that gold is quite heavy."

"So I did," said the frog. He flicked his tongue out again and closed his eyes. "I suppose," he said after he opened them again, "that I could just roll the ball across the bottom of the pond to the edge and then you could grab it."

Carolina looked at the frog in surprise. "Do you know, I think that might work!" she said. "Will you really do it?"

"I will," said the frog. "But not for nothing, Princess. Before I dive down into the pond, risking my life to bring you this ridiculous golden ball, I shall want to know that I will be compensated for my efforts."

"Compensated?" Carolina repeated. "My goodness, you do use large words for being such a little frog. What does 'compensated' mean?"

"It means that I shall wish to be repaid for my services," said the frog. "I will go down and fetch the ball for you if you will give me something in return."

"Oh, I see. That sounds reasonable. What would you like?"

"A promise," said the frog. "Promise me that you will take me back to the castle with you and let me stay there with you and be my friend and I will go and get the ball for you."

"That seems an awfully big promise for just going down into the pond and getting a ball," said Carolina. "I would have to be very careful with you. If Portia or Father saw you, they would make me bring you back outside, and I would have to set up a place for you somewhere, so you could stay wet, and what would I feed you? There aren't that many bugs in the palace. They keep it too clean."

The frog flicked his tongue again. This time Carolina saw him catch a fly on the end of it and snap it back into his mouth. He closed his eyes again. When he opened them, he said, "You make a good point. I suppose it doesn't really matter where I am relative to you, so long as you promise to be my friend. Will you promise that, then?"

"Certainly," said Carolina. "I like you quite a bit already. You're a very nice frog."

"Thank you," said the frog. "You're a very nice princess."

"Thank you."

"Now I suppose I had better go down there and get the ball. You'd best lie down on your stomach so you can watch me and reach out to take the ball when I roll it over to you."

Carolina nodded and lay down on the ground at the edge of the pool. The frog jumped with a splash and Carolina watched him swim out to the middle of the pond, where she could just see a glimmer of gold. Slowly the glimmer began to move across the pond toward her. After what seemed like an eternity--it was only about ten minutes--the gold ball was close enough that she could reach out and grab it. She slipped her hand into the pond, wrapped her fingers around the ball, and plucked it from the water. Seconds later the frog burst to the surface and leapt to the grass beside her.

"There," he said, his croak slightly breathless. "I've kept my part of the promise. Now you must keep yours. If we're going to be friends, I think we ought to know a bit about each other. You can start with your name."

Carolina smiled and sat up. She slipped the golden ball into her pocket and then said, "My name is Carolina."

"Mine is Henry," said the frog. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

"And I'm pleased to make yours," said Carolina. "You're the first friend I've ever had."

The frog--Henry--looked at her with something that might almost have been a smile on his froggy face.

#

Carolina and Henry spent hours together that first day. Carolina only just remembered to go inside for supper so she could give Portia back the golden ball. She promised Henry she would come back the next day. She kept her promise. Soon she was going to the pond every day and staying out there as long as she possibly could. She only returned to the castle for meals and to sleep at night. Her governess began to worry about her, but her father was too busy trying to arrange Portia's marriage with Prince Walter to listen to her concerns. For her part, Carolina had never been happier. Henry was intelligent, charming, understanding, and funny. He went from being her first friend to being her best friend in a matter of weeks. By the time a year had passed, he was her sole confidant and whenever something happened--good or bad--she ran out to the pond to tell him. Henry saw her when she was angry or sad and he listened to her. He usually had a suggestion for how she could improve whatever situation was upsetting her and most of the time his suggestions worked.

Four years passed before Carolina realized it. Portia did not marry Prince Walter after all, though she kept the golden ball. She was now pursuing Prince Richard of Marilon. He was better than Walter had been, in Carolina's opinion, but he was certainly not right for her sister. She told Henry about him and was only slightly surprised to find out that her friend knew who he was.

"He's a good man," Henry said. "A bit of a temper, but he's normally got it under control. I'd think your sister would annoy him, though. From all you've told me she's not his type at all. He prefers intelligent women. Or he did the last time I talked to him."

Carolina stared at him. "You've met him?"

Henry hopped backwards. "No," he said. "No."

"Yes you have. How did you meet him?"

"I didn't."

Carolina glared at him. "This is the first time you've lied to me, Henry. I didn't think you ever would. I thought you were my friend."

"I am your friend, Carolina."

"Then why did you lie?"

"I...I...I...Carolina, I'm sorry. I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"I just can't."

Carolina stood up, blinking back tears. "I have to go," she said. "I never want to see you again." Before Henry could say a word, she walked away over the grounds.

Henry hopped after her in frustration. "Carolina, wait!" he called, but his words was fell on deaf ears.

#

Carolina stayed inside for the rest of the day, though after about the first half hour she wanted to go back out to the pond and apologize. She stayed where she was on principle. She hadn't been in the wrong. Henry was the one who had lied. He should apologize. How can he when you won't go out to see him? asked a little voice in the back of her mind. Carolina ignored it.

That night Carolina ate supper with her father, Portia, and Prince Richard in the great hall. Carolina amused herself by watching Portia flirt outrageously with Prince Richard. She had nearly forgotten about the fight with Henry when a footman entered the hall.

"There is a visitor here for Princess Carolina," he said.

All conversation ceased. Everyone looked at Carolina, who blushed bright red.

"Who could be coming to see you?" giggled Portia.

"Who indeed?" her father echoed before Carolina could lash out at her sister. He turned to the footman. "Did this visitor give a name?"

"No," said the footman. "He said that she would know who he was."

"Do you know, Carolina?" asked her father.

"No," said Carolina, though she had a fair idea of who it was. "I wasn't expecting any visitors."

"Shall I send him in, Your Majesty?" the footman asked.

"Yes," said the king. "I'd like to meet your guest, Carolina. Do you really not know who it is?"

Carolina shook her head and picked at the peas on her plate. The footman left. He returned a moment later and announced, "Princess Carolina's visitor has arrived."

Everyone stared at him. At first there didn't seem to be anyone there. Then Carolina looked down at the floor by the footman's feet. A little green frog sat there, staring straight at her.

"Henry!" she cried and jumped up so quickly she nearly knocked over her chair.

"Henry?" repeated Portia with a giggle as Carolina rushed over to her friend and scooped him up in both hands. "You named a frog Henry?"

Carolina glared at her sister. "He's not just a frog," she said. "He's my friend." She looked down at Henry. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to apologize," said Henry, his croaking voice echoing in the hall. "I shouldn't have lied to you this morning. Will you forgive me?"

"Of course," said Carolina, just as Prince Richard--to everyone's surprise--cried out.

"Henry?" he exclaimed.

"Richard," said Henry. "It's good to hear your voice again." He hopped out of Carolina's hands and bounded over to the table, then startled Portia by jumping up onto it and landing in front of Prince Richard. Carolina followed.

"How did you become a frog?" Richard asked.

"I--" Henry seemed to choke on his words. He closed his eyes and then opened them again. "I can't tell you, Richard. It's a long story, and I really wish I could tell it to you because it's quite fascinating, but I can't."

Richard's face clouded, but before he could speak, Carolina asked, "Can you explain how you know each other? I'm quite curious."

"As am I," said her father,"though I want to know how you know him, Carolina."

Carolina blushed. "Well, I met him a few years ago, at the pond. He helped me with something and then I agreed to be his friend."

"And you've been a very good one," said Henry, hopping over to her. "I've grown very fond of you."

Carolina smiled down at him. "I've grown fond of you as well."

"In that case, I wonder if I might ask you something."

"Go right ahead."

Before Carolina could answer, Portia broke in. "This is ridiculous! There is a frog on the table! A talking frog! Get it out of here!"

She lunged at Henry, who hopped out of the way as fast as he could. Portia was faster, though, and within a few seconds she had grabbed Henry and flung him as hard as she could across the great hall. He hit the floor with a smack that echoed through the room.

Carolina screamed and ran to him. She fell to her knees beside the poor little frog, who was lying limp on the floor, his eyes closed. Gently she scooped him up. "Henry," she whispered. "Henry, are you all right?" He didn't answer. "Henry, please. Look at me." Still no answer, no movement. Tears welled up in Carolina's eyes and fell onto the frog in her hands. She bent her head and pressed her lips to his little cheek. "Oh Henry, please wake up..."

Carolina felt Henry's body lift out of her hands and she screamed, thinking someone was taking him from her. "No! Give him back! I love him!"

Suddenly, she felt a hand in hers. Then a familiar voice said, "Do you really mean that, Carolina?"

Carolina blinked away her tears and looked for the source of the voice. A young man of about twenty with curly brown hair and deep brown eyes looked up at her from the floor. His hand was in hers and he was smiling.

"It's me," he said. "Henry. Do you really love me?"

Carolina threw her arms around his neck. "Yes," she said. "Oh yes, yes. I do."

"I love you too," he said. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes," said Carolina.

At the other end of the hall, Portia fainted dead away.

#

Later that evening Henry explained everything to Carolina, her father, and a very curious Prince Richard. It turned out that Henry and Richard were cousins. Henry's father was a duke who had sent him to Jussen to serve in the court there. He had been chosen as Prince Walter's manservant and had traveled with him to Beldanie four years ago when he was courting Portia. On the road they had met a strange old woman, who turned out to be a witch Walter had insulted her and the woman had started to punish him, but Henry had intervened, knowing that if Walter was bewitched he would get in trouble. He managed to convince the witch that he was the one who had insulted her and so she cursed him instead, turning him into a frog until he could find a young woman to fall in love with him and kiss him. He retained his powers of speech and thinking, but he was not allowed to speak of his curse.

He had followed Walter to the palace and arrived at the pond the day before Portia had dropped the golden ball in it. From there Carolina took over the story, explaining how Henry had helped her that day and how they had been friends ever since. "And now I want to marry him, Father," she said.

Her father smiled. "He seems like a good young man, Carolina," he said. "I give you my blessing."

Carolina hugged her father. Then she looked at Henry and giggled. "I just thought of something," she said.

"What?" he asked.

"Portia is going to be furious that I'm getting married before her."

Henry laughed. "I think we ought to get married in Marilon," he said. "I don't want your sister at the wedding. She tends to throw things when she gets mad."

Carolina laughed too. Then she leaned in and kissed him.


	6. Chapter 6: Fisherman and His Wife

**The Fisherman and His Wife**

**by: Tiger Lily21**

**A/N: Whoops! I completely forgot to put this up when I finished it last week! I uploaded it but I never posted it! Sorry! Here it is. :-)**

* * *

Once upon a time a fisherman lived with his wife in a little cottage by the sea. They had no children and they were growing older, but the fisherman was content with his life. He loved the sea. Every fine day he would sail out in his boat and send his net down into the deep blue water. Then he would sit and wait for the net to fill. While he waited, he listened to the sounds of the sea, took in the sight and the smell and the feel of it. At night he went home and cleaned the fish and told his wife, Elsie, what he had seen that day. Sometimes he had a grand tale to tell her, of dolphins or whales or--though he was never sure he'd really seen them--merpeople. His wife was never impressed, not even by the merpeople.

"Honestly, Bert Fisher," she would say, "won't you grow up? Get these foolish ideas out of your head and clean your fish."

Then Bert would stay silent for the rest of the night. He would finish cleaning his fish and eat the supper his wife made him, and then he would crawl into their bed and dream of the sea until the next morning.

One day Bert sailed out farther than he had ever gone before. He cast his net into the depths and waited. He watched the clouds in the sky for a while and then started down into the deep water, which was clearer than he had ever seen it. The sun shone upon the waves and upon Bert in his little fishing boat and he was content.

Suddenly the net gave a great jerk! Bert started out of his reverie and grabbed the net. He began pulling it into the boat. It was heavier than it had ever been before. He struggled and pulled and strained. At last he pulled it into the boat. He was startled by what he saw. He had expected a great load of fish-perhaps an entire school! Instead there was only one fish in his net, but it was the largest fish he had ever seen. Its scales shone like gold in the sun and it flopped about in the net and looked at him with a fiery red eye. It was the most magnificent fish Bert had ever seen! He laughed in delight. How impressed his wife would be when he showed it to her that night!

Then the fish spoke. "Please free me," it said. Its voice was melodic and haunting, like the sea lapping the shore at night.

Bert stated at the fish. "What?"

"Please free me," it repeated in that same beautiful voice. "I must return to the sea. My master, the Sea King, is depending on me. Please free me, kind fisherman."

Bert could not stop staring at the fish. "The Sea King? He's real then?"

"Yes," said the fish. "He is my master. Please, I must go back to him."

"Of course," said Bert. He untangled the net from around the fish and gently pushed it back over the side of the boat into the sea. The fish sank beneath the water, then bobbed up again.

"Thank you," it said. "I will repay you. What would you like?"

"I don't want anything," said Bert. "Knowing that the Sea King exists, and that he employs such magnificent creatures as you is enough for me."

"Very well," said the fish. "But if you ever should need anything, go to the seashore and call, 'O Golden fish in the sea, come and grant a wish for me!' I will come and grant your wish. Thank you again for my life. Farewell."

The fish slipped below the surface again. Bert stared at the spot where it had been for several minutes. Then he turned the boat around and sailed back toward land. When he was in shallower water, he cast his net out again and waited, thinking about the golden fish. What a story he would have to tell Elsie tonight! She would have to believe this one.

#

That night Bert told Elsie all about his encounter with the golden fish. She listened in silence. Then she said, "That's a load of nonsense, Bert Fisher."

"It's not nonsense," said Bert. "I tell you, Elsie, the fish spoke to me. It told me it would grant me a wish for putting it back in the sea!"

Elsie's face brightened suddenly. "A wish?" she repeated.

"Yes, for putting it back."

"What did you ask for?"

"I didn't ask for anything. I've got all I need-a roof over my head, a fine boat, and you." He smiled at her.

Elsie scowled. "You were given a wish by a talking fish and you didn't ask for anything? You idiot! You could have wished for anything! You could have wished to be a gentleman with a fine house for us to live in, one that doesn't smell like your smelly fish, and enough money that you don't have to work anymore. And you gave it up like a fool! How could you give up something like that?"

Bert thought for a moment. Then he remembered the fish's final words. "Elsie," he said excitedly, "the fish told me that if I went to the shore and called for him he'd come back and give me that wish. If you really want all that--me being a gentleman and a nice house and all that money--I'll go and call the fish and ask him for it."

Elsie smiled. "Really, Bert? You would?"

"Yes," said Bert. "Do you really want it?"

"I do, Bert."

"Then I'll go and ask the fish."

Elsie kissed his cheek. Bert smiled at her and walked out of the cottage. He strolled to the beach and stood at the water's edge. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called, "O golden fish in the sea, come and grant a wish for me!"

The surface of the water bubbled, boiled, and then went still again. The golden fish poked his head out of the water.

"You have thought of a wish then?" he asked.

"Yes," said Bert. "My wife wants me to wish to be a gentleman, with a fine house and enough money that I do not have to work anymore."

The fish's red eyes gleamed strangely. "Go home," he said. "You will find your wife in the house she longed for and all the money that you will need."

"Thank you," said Bert.

The fish simply sank beneath the waves and vanished. Bert turned toward home--to find his simple hut had been replaced by a fine house, with a front garden and gingham curtains in the windows, and the front door painted sunshine yellow. His wife opened that door and stepped out. She was beaming as Bert had never seen her beam before. She ran to him and threw her arms around him.

"Bert," she said, as if he had built the house for her, "it's beautiful! Thank you! I love you." She kissed him--really kissed him-for the first time in years. Bert kissed her back and thought that maybe making the wish had given him something he'd needed after all.

#

The next three weeks were a blur of happiness. Bert and Elsie lived happily together in their house and had all the money they needed to live on. Elsie went into the village and used some of that money to buy herself a new dress. She used more of it to hire a servant girl to cook and clean for them. Bert was happy just to see her happy, but in his heart he missed his old life. He missed the hut where they had lived so cozily. He missed going out in his boat every day to catch fish and spend time on the sea. That was what he missed the most--being on the sea. He had no need to go out now that he was a gentleman, but he longed for it.

Elsie noticed that he did not seem as happy with their new life as she was. Finally she confronted him about it one night.

"Why are you moping about?" she asked. "We have everything we need now--a fine house, money, a servant, and no need to do anything."

Bert sighed. "We had everything we needed before," he said. "We had a house and we had money to get by with what I sold my fish for, and we had each other. We didn't need a servant or a fine house like this. But I wished for it to make you happy."

"And you have made me happy," said Elsie. "But now that I think on it, there is something missing. There's something wanted, Bert, and I think I know what it is."

"What?" asked Bert.

"We need more than this," Elsie said. "There are folks who are finer than we are. There are folks who have more money and more servants and better houses than we do. The king has more money and servants than anybody, and he lives in a castle. I think I'd like to live in a castle, Bert."

"How am I supposed to get a castle?" Bert asked in surprise.

"Go and wish for it," said Elsie. "Go tell that old fish that I wish I were king."

"You can't be king!" said Bert. "And besides, the fish only gave me one wish."

"How do you know? Maybe he'd give you another one if you went out and asked him."

"Just doesn't seem right," Bert muttered, but he got to his feet. "I'll go," he told her, more because he wanted to get back out to the sea than because he thought he'd really get another wish. Elsie smiled and watched as Bert left their fine house and walked down to the shore.

Bert stood for a moment and let the waves lap over his feet. He drank in the familiar scent of the sea and looked out to the horizon over the deep blue water. Then he cupped his hands around his mouth and called, "O golden fish in the sea, come and grant a wish for me!"

The surface of the water bubbled, boiled, and then went still again. The golden fish poked his head out of the water.

"Why have you called me again?" he asked. "Were you not satisfied with the fulfillment of your wish?"

"Er, no," said Bert. "That is, my wife wasn't satisfied. She thought if I came out and called you, you might come back and, er, give us another wish."

"What would you wish for instead?" asked the fish.

"My, er, my wife wishes to be...to be...to be king." Bert turned bright red after the last word and looked down at his feet instead of at the fish.

"Go home," said the fish, his red eyes glowing. "You will find your wife, now the king, in a castle with as many servants and as much gold as she could ever want." Then it sank below the water and vanished.

Bert turned away and looked at the place where his fine house had been only minutes before. It had been replaced by a large castle made all of dark stone, with colorful flags flying from the tops of the towers, a moat, and a drawbridge. The drawbridge opened and Elsie, dressed in the purple robes of the king, swept across it toward him. When she reached him, she kissed his cheek.

"Thank you, Bert," she said. "I am king now, and we have everything we could possibly want."

"Are you happy?" Bert asked.

"Yes," said King Elsie. "I am."

"Then I'm happy too," said Bert and followed her back into the castle.

#

The castle was beautiful inside and out. There were servants for everything. Bert had new clothes to wear--fine ones that Elsie said made him fit to be married to the king. There were rooms full of treasure and portraits on the walls of people Bert was sure weren't related to him or Elsie in any way. There were more rooms than he could count. It was a wonderful place to live, but Bert found that he was unhappy. He still missed his hut and going out on the sea every day. The castle smelled of damp stone and fancy clothes. It was not a pleasant smell.

He commented on it casually one night over dinner. Elsie looked at him from the other end of the long, shiny wooden table.

"What was that, Bert?" she called to him.

"Nothing," Bert called back quickly. "Just saying that this is a fine castle we've got now that you're king. Do you still like it, dear?"

"I suppose I like it," Elsie called. "But I've been thinking lately that I might like something a bit...grander."

"Grander?" repeated Bert. "Grander than a castle and you being king? What could be grander than that?"

"An emperor is grander than a king. Go and tell the fish I wish to be emperor."

"I can't do that!" Bert exclaimed. "I've already made two wishes. He won't give me another one."

"How do you know unless you try? Go!"

The look on her face told Bert that if he did not do as she said, he would regret it. His wife had real power now and Bert was not foolish enough to cross her. He stood up and walked out of the castle.

He stood again at the edge of the water. A cool, salty breeze blew over him. He started out at the waves and realized how much he'd missed them. He waded out a bit, enjoying the feel of the water, and then waded back to the shore and cupped his hands around his mouth.

"O golden fish in the sea, come and grant a wish for me!"

The water bubbled furiously. It boiled. Waves crashed on the shore. Then it went calm. The golden fish poked his head up out of the water.

"Why have you called me again?" he asked. "Is your wife not satisfied with being king?"

"Er, no," said Bert. "She, she wants to be emperor now."

The fish's red eyes glowed. Bert took a step back in fear. Then the fish spoke again. "Go home," he said. "Your wife is emperor. But I warn you, old man. Sometimes it is better to be content with what you have than to try to gain as much as you can. If you call me again, you will learn the true meaning of those words." He disappeared beneath the water.

Bert turned around. Where the castle had been stood a magnificent palace made of white marble with golden towers and golden gates in front of it. There were guards at the gates dressed in white and gold uniforms. As Bert walked up to the gates, one of them said, "Who goes there?"

"Bert Fisher," said Bert. "My wife's the emperor."

"Oh. Well then. Go on in," said the guard and he and his companion stepped aside. The gates swung open and Bert walked through them to the palace doors. Another set of guards stopped him there. Bert told them the same thing. They let him in. He walked down a long corridor and into a room so big his old hut could have fit in it at least a dozen times. At the very end of the room Elsie sat on a golden throne, dressed entirely in gold. She smiled slightly.

"Thank you, Bert. This is lovely."

Bert felt his stomach twist and wondered if he had done the right thing.

#

The new palace was so large that Bert got lost just trying to go to bed. There were even more servants and even more treasure. Bert's clothes were even finer and the whole place smelled of money. Bert hated it. He longed for his old hut. He longed for his boat, which he had not seen since he'd made the first wish. He longed for the sea. All the longing was like an ache in the pit of his stomach. He tolerated the palace for a day and a half and then he made a decision. He would call the fish one more time and ask him to take away all of the finery and just give them back their old lives. He decided to tell Elsie before he went, just so she wouldn't be surprised when the palace disappeared.

He walked into her throne room. Before he had crossed halfway to her, Elsie stood up. "Good, you are here," she said. "I want you to go back to the fish and make one more wish for me. I wish to rule not only the land but also the sea and the sky. Go and tell the fish that and do not come back until he grants the wish."

"But Elsie," began Bert, "I was going to wish--"

"Do not argue with me!" Elsie shouted. Go and inform the fish of my wish or I will have the guards throw you out!"

Bert left without another word. He ran out of the palace to the sea shore and called out, ""O golden fish in the sea, come and grant a wish for me!"

The water boiled and the waves crashed. The sea raged. The golden fish appeared on the crest of a wave, his red eyes glowing. "What do you want now?" he asked in a voice that shook Bert to his very core. "Does your wife have yet another ridiculous wish that she wants fulfilled? I tell you, human, I will not grant any more! Speak but beware: if you have another request from your wife, you will find out exactly how powerful my master the Sea King is."

Bert had a hard time finding his voice. When he did, it came out as barely a whisper. "Please, kind fish, my wife has asked me to make another wish for her, but I...I don't want it. I just want our old life back--the hut, my boat, and Elsie being content with what we had."

The fish's eyes softened slightly. "You are making a wise choice," he said. "I will grant this wish for you, but no more. Do not ever call me again."

"I won't," said Bert.

"Then go home. You will find your wife waiting for you in the hut you once had. Neither you nor your wife will remember nothing of this. Go home."

The fish vanished. The wave he had been on crashed to the shore, rushing over Bert and completely soaking him. He stood for a moment, stunned and confused. Then he turned and headed for home. His little hut sat where it always had been and Elsie was waiting in the doorway.

"Bert!" she cried as he walked toward her. "What happened to you? You're all wet!"

"I...I don't know," said Bert, realizing that he had absolutely no idea what had just happened.

"Well come in and get dry," said Elsie, taking him by the arm. She bustled him into the hut and sat him down in a chair by the fire. Then she set about fixing supper. Bert watched her and smiled. He had a home, a loving wife, a fine boat, and the sea. Life was good.


	7. Chapter 7: Beauty and the Beast 1

**Beauty and the Beast**

**by: Tiger Lily21**

**A/N: Finally, after several days, I have finally written something else for NaNoWriMo that I can post on here. This is only part one of the story; I plan to write the next big part over the next few days. I've given up on writing a story a day. It doesn't work and it's annoying being behind on stories but ahead on word count. **

**Anyways, this is, well, basically my masterpiece. Sort of. One of them anyways. I've tried writing it as a novel-length story several times and never got through the whole thing. Then I told it aloud to a group of kids I have this summer and I told the whole story and was quite proud of myself. I decided it should be a "short story" (none of my stories are really short, as you've seen). I hope you'll enjoy this first part. I've embellished it a bit more than the story I told aloud, because it's easier to do that on paper. Plus, people will read more than they will listen to (especially when the readers are, I presume, older than the six year olds I told this particular story too). Thank you for the lovely reviews on the other chapters and I look forward to hearing from you again. Look for another update by the end of the week, hopefully.**

* * *

The village of Linchester in Arenia was a small but pleasant one. Lord Mortimer Verdon ruled over the town. He was a fair man and did his best to treat the townspeople with respect. His large manor was situated on a hill slightly to the east. Below it, the town and the villagers' homes spread out in neat little rows, stopping at the very edge of the great forest. The main part of town consisted of various shops, a tavern, a church, and a schoolhouse.

Linchester was very proud of its schoolhouse, which was rumored to be one of the finest in the area. It was built of gray brick with a stone floor inside. Although it had only one room, it was a large room, able to hold up to thirty children and the teacher. Most days there weren't more than fifteen children at the school, but the villagers were very proud to say that if they ever needed to, they could fit twice that many children in the schoolhouse.

The pride and joy of the school, however, was not the building itself but the teacher. Miss Charlotte Morris was the youngest daughter of Phillip Morris, the owner of the general store. He had been a merchant at one time but had lost his fortune and moved to Linchester to start a new life. Charlotte had been only seven at the time, but she had grown up in Linchester. When she was sixteen she had taken up the job of teaching school and had had it for the past six years.

The parents of Linchester loved her because she taught their children so well. Every child in Linchester who attended the school could read, write, do arithmetic, and find Linchester on a map of Arenia, and spell more words than their parents. The children loved her for a different reason. Any child in Linchester would tell you in half a second that Miss Morris told the best stories of anyone in town.

Every day, just before it was time for the children to come home, Miss Morris led them out onto the front steps of the schoolhouse and sat down to tell them a story. Normally they were tales the children had heard before, from their parents or grandparents, but Miss Morris told them differently. She added to them or twisted them about so that even if she told the same story every day for a week it was never the one she'd told the day before.

On the last day of school, Miss Morris led the children out of the steps one last time.

"This is our last day together for a while," she said, "so I want to tell you all a very special story today."

"Is it a new one?" one of the children asked.

"Is it exciting?" another chimed in.

"Is there a monster?"

"No! I don't want monsters! I want a love story. Is it a love story, Miss Morris?"

"Eww!"

Miss Morris laughed and held up a hand. She waited for the children to fall silent and then said, "This story is a very sad one, but it's one of my favorites. My mother told it to me when I was very little.

"Tell us, tell us!" the children cried.

Miss Morris smiled. "Very well," she said, and began.

"Once upon a time, long, long ago, a king and queen had two children, a princess and a prince. The children were very close and loved each other very much, but when the prince was ten years old, his older sister left home to get married. Before she left, she gave the prince a tiny glass rose. 'Keep it to remember me by,' she said. 

"The prince treasured the rose, but he grew lonely. At first, he stayed in the castle, wandering around all the rooms where he and his sister had spent time together. Gradually, though, his loneliness turned to anger. He began spending all his time outside in the palace grounds, running around and making mischief. His parents didn't know what to do with him, so they just let him run wild. 

"One day, when the prince was sixteen, he went out for a ride on his horse. He rode out of the palace gates and onto the main road. He rode without knowing where he was going. Suddenly a young woman ran onto the road in front of him. The prince reigned in his horse just in time to avoid her. He was about to say something harsh to her when he saw her face. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The prince was smitten. 

"He leapt off his horse and bowed low. 'Forgive me,' he said. 'Are you all right, miss?'

"The young woman smiled. The prince felt as though his heart had flipped over in his chest. Then she spoke in a voice like birdsong and bells all rolled into one. 'I am fine, thank you, sir,' she said. Those simple words were enough to make the prince's head whirl.

"He held out his hand. 'Come back to my castle with me,' he said. 'I want you to meet my parents.'

"The young woman laughed but she took his hand and let him swing her up onto his horse. They rode back to the castle together and the prince ecstatically introduced her to his parents, who invited her to stay with them at the castle. 

"For the next few months the prince and his mysterious guest spent every moment of every day together. He showed her all his favorite spots in the castle. She whispered strange secrets in his ear and every day he fell more and more in love with her. 

"Finally one day he could hold it in no longer. He took her out to the gardens and knelt in front of her, holding the glass rose in one hand. 'I love you,' he said. 'I love you so very, very much. Marry me, please!'

"She laughed in his face. 'You foolish boy! Do you really think I'd marry you? You don't even know who I really am!' 

"Then, suddenly, she changed. There was no flash of light or a bang. She simply seemed to shift and twist until she was no longer a beautiful, slender young woman, but a tall and terrifying sorceress. She raised a hand and pointed at the prince, who trembled on the ground before her. 'Forgive me,' he begged. 'Forgive me! I didn't know!'

"The sorceress laughed again. 'You didn't know,' she mocked. Her voice was no longer like bells and birdsong but like thunder. It crashed over him and he cowered, covering his head with his arms. 'You fool!' the sorceress continued. 'You have insulted me and now you will pay!' A ball of light flew from her fingers and hit the prince. He fell backwards and knew no more. The glass rose shattered on the ground.

"The young prince and the sorceress both vanished after that. No one knew what had happened to them. The king and queen were heartbroken, but there was nothing they could do. At first they sent out search parties, thinking he'd run off with his lady love, but they never found him. Eventually the king and queen gave up and, when they died, their daughter and her husband took the throne. No one ever found the prince or the sorceress, and eventually most people forgot about it, except as a story--the very story which I have just told to you."

As she spoke the last word, Miss Morris stood up. "And now it's time for all of you to go home for the night, and for the rest of the summer."

The children stood up as well, quieter than they had been on other days, and started off down the steps. Charlotte watched them go with a smile, then headed back into the schoolhouse to tidy up. After sweeping the floor and gathering up the papers and books on her own desk at the front of the room, she walked out of the schoolhouse again and locked the door behind her. Books and papers in her arms, she headed toward home, still thinking about the story she had told.

She had thought about the story many times before. It was one of her favorite tales. As a child she had made up all sorts of things that had happened to the young prince. She had made his mysterious lady love into a secret assassin, a kidnapper working for a jealous cousin of the royal like, even just a simple girl who refused him and broke his heart so he ran away from home.

In years past, however, the sorceress idea had become her favorite. The only problem was that the story did not have a satisfactory ending. The prince and the sorceress both simply vanished. What was the light that came out of the sorceress's fingers? Some sort of magic, obviously, but what did it do to the poor prince? Did it kill him? Or did it just knock him out or turn him into something else to give the sorceress a chance to take him away from the palace? If she did take him away, where did she take him, and what did she do with him? There were entirely too many questions and too few answers.

Of course, she thought, it's just a story and probably never happened. Still, it's interesting to think about. 

With that she put the story out of her mind and began thinking of other things, such as what she was going to make for supper that night.

#

The Morris house stood on the outskirts of town, near the forest. It was a quaint little place, more of a cottage than a house, but it was big enough for Charlotte, her two older sisters Dorine and Petunia, and their father. Neither Dorine nor Petunia had ever taken to doing the housework--cooking, straightening up the tiny kitchen, the parlor, and the bedrooms, doing the family laundry, and tending the garden behind the house--so Charlotte took it upon herself. She had to do most of it in the evenings and on Saturdays but for the most part she enjoyed it.

Charlotte arrived home that night to find her sisters in the parlor, working on their latest embroidery projects. They both looked up when they heard the door.

"Charlotte, what's for supper?" Dorine asked as Charlotte set down her books and papers on an empty chair.

"I'm not sure yet," said Charlotte. "I'll have to see what we have left in the kitchen, and what's ripe in the garden. Supper probably won't be ready for at least an hour."

"Wilbur's cook brought something by about an hour ago," said Petunia. "He's such a dear, sending over food to help us. I had the man leave it on the table."

"Why should he?" snapped Dorine. "Does he think we're so poor we can't afford our own food?"

Charlotte shook her head and walked into the kitchen as her sisters began squabbling again. Wilbur Verdon, Lord Verdon's son, had been courting Petunia for the past month, a fact which annoyed Dorine no end. As the eldest, she felt it was unfair for her younger sisters to have suitors before she did. Not that Charlotte had any. None of the young men in town seemed interested in her and she usually paid them very little attention.

In the kitchen Charlotte tied on an apron and looked at the gift the Verdon's cook had left on the table. It was a covered platter. Charlotte lifted the cover to reveal a small but well-prepared ham.

"This is wonderful!" she called. "They gave us a ham! I'll warm it up, cut some bread, and prepare a salad and we can have supper in about half an hour."

Neither of her sisters answered. She could hear them, still arguing about Wilbur Verdon. Charlotte shook her head slightly and set about fixing supper. She put the ham in the oven to warm along with a loaf of bread, then went out to the garden to gather vegetables. There were tomatoes and peas ripe, as well as a few carrots and a head of lettuce. Charlotte brought them back inside and began chopping them up, humming a bit as she worked.

Within half an hour the meal was prepared, just as she had said it would be. She set the table then went back to the parlor. Dorine and Petunia had stopped fighting at last and were now doing their best to ignore each other.

"It's time for supper," said Charlotte. "Where's Papa?"

"He's been in his bedroom all afternoon," said Dorine. "He came home early and shut himself up in there. I don't know what he's been doing."

"I'll fetch him then," said Charlotte. She walked down the hall toward her father's room. The door was closed. She knocked. "Papa? It's time for supper. Lord Verdon's cook sent us a ham."

"I'll be out in a minute," her father called through the door.

"No Papa, you need to come out now," said Charlotte in the voice she used with her students when they were disobedient. "Supper is ready and it'll get cold if you don't come out now."

She heard her father laugh. He opened the door and stepped out. "That's not fair, my dear," he said. "You used your teacher voice on me."

Charlotte smiled. "I am a teacher, Papa. Now come along. Supper's waiting."

She allowed him to go ahead of her and studied him as they walked back toward the kitchen. Her father had once been a handsome man, tall and muscular. Now he was bent with age and worry, his hair was gray,and his hazel eyes did not have as much spark as they once had. Even so, there was still something in his face and his voice sometimes that reminded Charlotte of who he had been back when she was a tiny child, when they had lived in the city.

The two of them sat at the table with her sisters. The family gave thanks for the food and then Mr. Morris carved the ham and served it. Charlotte took the opportunity to study her sisters as they ate. Dorine was slender and pale, with long golden hair that she was extremely proud of. She was three years older than Charlotte and remembered the 'old days' far more clearly than Charlotte and Petunia did. She longed to be rich again. Petunia sat next to her, plump and rosy-cheeked with black hair and emerald green eyes that many men in town--including Wilbur Verdon--admired. She longed for finery as much as Dorine did, but she intended to get it through marriage.

Charlotte wondered, as she often had before, how she fit in with her family. Her eyes were amber with flecks of green and her hair was mouse brown. She did not have Dorine's slender frame or Petunia's curvier hourglass figure. She towered over both her sisters and her father. She thought that perhaps she took after her mother, whom she only vaguely remembered. She had a picture of a kind face and a memory of a low, lilting voice singing and telling the story of the lost prince.

"Charlotte! Charlotte, pay attention!"

Dorine's sharp voice dragged Charlotte out of her reverie. She blinked several times. "I'm sorry. What?"

"I asked you to pass the salad five times," said Dorine sourly.

"I'm sorry," Charlotte said again and passed the dish. Dorine took it and refilled her plate, rolling her eyes as she did.

"Sometimes I wonder where you go when you drift off like that," she said, scowling.

Charlotte laughed. "I wish I could tell you," she said, ignoring Dorine's disgusted tone. She turned to her father. "What have you been doing all day, Papa? Dorine said you came home early."

Her father smiled. "I'm glad you asked, my dear," he said. "As it happens, I have been packing for a very important trip. I've asked Thomas Bell to run the store for me while I am away because I will be going to the capital for a few months."

"Why, Papa?" asked Petunia excitedly.

"Because I received a letter today from an old colleague," he said. "He has asked me to come and help him with a business endeavor. If it's successful, he will give me a good percentage of the profits."

Dorine squealed. "Does this mean we'll be able to leave Linchester, Papa?" she asked.

"No," he said. Dorine's face fell, but her father continued. "However, it does mean that I will have enough money to buy you girls some things I haven't been able to buy before. Is there anything you would like me to bring back for you?"

Dorine's face brightened again. Petunia's green eyes sparkled.

"A golden dress!" Dorine said eagerly. "With diamonds sewn onto it, in the very latest--"

"An emerald necklace," said Petunia before Dorine had finished, "With a ruby pendant in the middle cut in the shape of a heart!"

The sisters glared at each other, but before they could start fighting, their father asked, "And what for you, Charlotte? What would you like?"

"Oh I don't want anything, Father," said Charlotte.

Dorine made a noise that might have been a snort if it had come from a young woman of lesser breeding. "Of course you don't want anything, Charlotte," she said. "What could you possibly want beside this tiny little house, your plain, handmade clothes, that horrid garden outside, and all those loud children you teach every day?"

Petunia giggled. "I think she just wants something Father can't possibly find for her," she said. "Like a husband."

"I have no desire for a husband," said Charlotte indignantly, "and I love our home here. I'm very glad that Father is going on this trip and getting more money from it, but if I don't ask for anything then he'll have more to buy your gifts."

"Don't be stupid," said Dorine. "Father will make plenty of money. Won't you, Father?"

"I will make a good deal of money if the endeavor is successful," said Mr. Morris. "It won't be a fortune, but it will certainly be enough for me to get something for each of you. Come now, Charlotte, you must want something. New books for your students? Seeds for your garden? Perhaps you could plant some flowers this year."

Charlotte thought for a moment. Then it came to her: something small and simple that she really did want. It would be easy to find in the city and not expensive at all. "Father," she said, "if you truly want to bring me a present, I would like a little glass rose."

"A glass rose?" her father repeated as her sisters burst into laughter.

"Yes," she said. "A little rose made out of spun glass."

"If that is what you really want, my dear, then I will find you a glass rose."

"Thank you, Father," said Charlotte with a smile.

"When do you leave, Father?" asked Dorine. Petunia was still attempting to get her giggles under control.

"Tomorrow morning," said Mr. Morris.

#

Mr. Morris left directly after breakfast the next morning on a horse he borrowed from Lord Verdon. Dorine and Petunia cried as they watched him ride away. Charlotte watched through the kitchen window as she heated water on the stove, preparing to scrub the house from top to bottom. If a few tears escaped her and fell into the water as she poured it into the pot over the fire, no one noticed.

Mr. Morris's business with his old friend lasted two months and went very well. When the profit came, they split it equally and Mr. Morris headed out into the city to find or commission the gifts his daughters had requested. He had Dorine's gold and diamond gown created by the most talented tailors. He ordered Petunia's emerald and ruby necklace from the finest jewelers. While he waited for the masterpieces to be completed, he searched the entire city for the perfect glass rose. He went to every glassblower in the city, but none of them could make one that pleased him. None of their work was fine enough for his Charlotte. Though he would never have told any of them, Charlotte was his favorite daughter. Her levelheadedness, her kindness, and her stories all reminded him of his late wife, who had loved very much. If all she wanted was a glass rose, he would find her the best one he could.

After another month the dress and the necklace were ready, but Mr. Morris still hadn't found the right glass rose. Even so, he could not put off going home any longer. He missed his daughters, and he could not keep Lord Verdon's horse much longer either. He collected the gown and the necklace and then went to the glassblower who had made the finest attempt at a glass rose. He bought it with a heavy heart, knowing that it wasn't good enough, and headed for home.

On the way to the city he had ridden along the main road. On the way home, he decided to take a shorter route through the forest. He had never taken it before, but the path was well-defined and he wanted to get home quickly. Unfortunately, he had forgotten the stories about the forest. It was said to be haunted or enchanted. The trees were known to shift and the path never quite stayed in the same place. So it was that Mr. Morris ended up completely lost that night. He rode for ages before finally admitting it to himself.

When he finally did, it was dark and his horse was tired. He urged it onward. At last, when both he and the horse were absolutely exhausted, he stopped the poor creature and dismounted. He tied it to a nearby tree and lay down beside it. He told himself that he would find the path again in the morning. He went to sleep unconvinced of the truth of those words.

He woke, to his utter astonishment, on something soft instead of on the hard ground where he had been. He sat up and found himself on a wide couch in an unfamiliar room. There was a fireplace nearby and a table in front of it with a delicious-smelling breakfast on it. For a moment he wondered where he was and how he had gotten there. Then his stomach growled and the smell of the food on the table filled his nose and suddenly, he found he didn't care where he was. He stood, walked to the table, and sat. He ate heartily, until he could eat no more. Only then did his conscience kick in.

He pushed his chair back from the table, feeling extremely guilty. After all, it had not been his food to eat. On the other hand, he had woken up in the room with it. Someone had obviously been expected him to wake up and need something to eat. For that matter, someone had brought him into the room in the first place. Someone had found him in the forest and taken him in.

I'll find my host and thank him and then I'll be on my way, he decided. That's the proper thing to do, considering the circumstances. 

"Hello?" he called, wondering if his host was in the room and he merely hadn't seen him. "If you can hear me, I want to thank you for your hospitality. You are very kind."

No answer. Mr. Morris left the room and found himself in a corridor. There were lit candelabras on the walls. THe passage seemed to branch off in two directions. Mr. Morris tried the left one first. He followed it for a great distance, occasionally calling out his message of gratitude again, but he found no one. After a while, he turned back and took the right hand passage. Still he found no one. Finally he turned back one more time and took the center passage. This one branched off into more corridors. He continued down the main one until it opened into what seemed to be an entrance hall. There was a staircase to his right and large wooden doors straight ahead of him. He called his message one last time, hoping that the owner of the place had heard him. He was about to turn and head for the doors, hoping they led outside, when he saw it.

It was on a little table on the wall opposite the staircase. He had walked right past it. There, in a thin vase, was the most beautiful spun glass rose he had ever seen. It seemed to have been waiting for him. He walked over to it as if in a trance. Slowly he reached out and plucked it from the vase. It was made of colored glass--red for the blossom and green for the stem. The flower seemed to be in full bloom and there were tiny thorns on the stem. He held it up to the light and studied it. Then he moved to slip it into his jacket pocket, intending to pull out a handful of coins to leave in its place. Before he could place the rose in his pocket or the coins on the table, however, he heard a ferocious roar.

He stumbled back, turned to face the source of the roar, and nearly dropped the rose. A terrible beast stood at the end of the corridor. It was covered all over in dark brown fur that was standing on end, a lionlike mane, a wolfish snout and tail, the body of a bear and the great horns of a ram on its head. Its eyes glowed and it bared its teeth at him. Mr. Morris shook with fear as he looked at it. Then it spoke.

"Do not drop that rose or I will slay you where you stand, human," it said in a deep growl.

Mr. Morris grasped the rose so tightly in his hand that the glass thorns cut into his palm. "I...I'm sorry," he stammered. "I meant no harm. I only thought--"

"You thought you would take my rose from me?" the beast said. "After I took you in and gave you a place to sleep and food to eat when you woke, you chose to repay me by stealing my most prized possession?"

"I did not mean to steal it!" Mr. Morris cried. "I was going to leave payment."

"How can you pay for something that is priceless?" the beast growled. "You foolish man. I ought to kill you now."

"Please don't! Please, sir, I have a family."

The beast seemed taken aback, if that were possible. "A family?" it repeated.

"Yes,a family. A wonderful family," said Mr. Morris, knowing that he was babbling and not caring in the slightest. "I have three daughters, Dorine, Petunia, and Charlotte. They need me. They cannot live without me, not with school being out of session right now and Tom Bell running the shop. I must get back to them. I must. And I promised them presents but I couldn't find a glass rose for Charlotte. It was all she asked for but I couldn't find the right one until now. This is a beautiful rose. She would love it. She--"

"Be quiet!" the beast roared. Mr. Morris shut his mouth immediately. "Now," the beast continued, "you say you have daughters, including one who asked for a glass rose like mine?"

"Yes, sir," said Mr. Morris. "Charlotte, my youngest. It was all she wanted. I promised her one."

"Then she shall have one," said the beast. "She shall have the very one you now hold in your hand. But in exchange, you must bring her back here to me."

"B...b...bring her here?" repeated Mr. Morris.

"Yes," said the beast, baring its terrible teeth again. "Bring me your daughter and I will let you bring her the rose. You have seven days to fulfill this bargain. Otherwise I will come to your home and kill you the way I ought to have killed you today. Now go. You will find your horse where you left him. The path will be on your right and if you follow it all day you will reach your home by nightfall. Now go!"

Mr. Morris put the rose in his pocket and bolted for the door as fast as he could. Outside, he found his horse and the path where the beast had said they would be. He mounted his horse and urged it into a full gallop, eager to leave the beast's home behind.


	8. Chapter 8: Beauty and the Beast cont

**Beauty and the Beast**

**by: Tiger Lily21**

**Scene 4: Dad Comes Home and Charlotte Makes a Decision**

**A/N: This is not Part 2 of the story. This is, specifically, Part 1 of Part 2. Or it might be Part 4 of Part 1. It doesn't really matter. It's the next part of the story. I promised some of you reviewers an update by Thursday but I didn't have the entire second part done (I only have this part of the part done) and I felt bad not updating when I said I would, so here's this. It's not really a scene. There are two scenes in it, I think. Really I ought to just break down and call each scene a chapter and post them as a separate story. But I won't! Not yet anyways. After NaNoWriMo is over, this story and "The Twelve Dancing Princesses" (and possibly one more that is only a twinkle in my eye right now but will hopefully be written and up by the end of the month in this collection) will probably get major overhauls and be turned into novel-length stories. They have so much potential, after all! I love them. :-)**

**Anyways, here's the next bit of Charlotte's story. I particularly like the ending conversation. Let me know what you think of it. :-)**

* * *

Charlotte was washing the supper dishes when she heard the front door open. Dorine and Petunia gasped in delight and then Dorine said, "Oh Papa, what happened to you?"

Alarmed, Charlotte dropped the pan she was scrubbing back into the soapy water and rushed into the parlor, drying her wet hands on her apron as she went. She found her father sunk into the chair closest to the fire with Dorine and Petunia hovering around him.

"Papa!" Charlotte said, kneeling on the floor in front of him. "Papa, what happened? What's the matter?"

Mr. Morris heaved a great sigh. "Nothing, my dear," he said, but his face told a different story. It was more lined than when he had left, his eyes were troubled, and Charlotte could have sworn his hair was grayer than it had been.

"Didn't your business go well?" she asked.

"It went fine. Splendidly, even."

"Then you got the money?" Petunia asked before Charlotte could ask another question.

"Yes, my dear. I got the money."

"And our presents? Did you get our present?" asked Dorine eagerly.

"Yes, my dear."

Charlotte glared at her sisters. "Really!" she said in the voice she used to scold her student. "You might let Papa rest a bit and get settled back in here before you go begging him for what he brought you!"

"Oh hush up, Charlotte," Dorine snapped back. "Papa has said that he is fine and so I feel no shame in asking for my golden dress. You did get it, didn't you, Papa?"

"Yes," said Mr. Morris in a very tired voice. "It's out in one of the saddlebags, along with Petunia's necklace. You may go and fetch them if you like."

Dorine and Petunia both squealed and rushed off, leaving Charlotte alone with her father. She reached up and took his hand. It was cold and clammy in hers and she saw a look of fear cross his face.

"Papa, please, what's wrong? Did something happen during your trip? Did you really get all the money you were supposed to, and did you really buy those expensive things for Dorine and Petunia, and did you really, are you really, are you sure you're not ill, Papa?"

Mr. Morris managed a weak smile. "I'm fine, my dear," he said. "Just tired. My trip went perfectly well. Your sisters will indeed find their gifts in my saddlebags, and I have your gift as well."

"My gift?" Charlotte repeated in surprise.

"Yes. Your rose. It's here, in my pocket." He reached into a pocket and pulled out the delicate glass rose. Charlotte took it from him as if it would break if she closed her hands around it too tightly.

"Oh, Papa," she breathed. "Oh, Papa, it's beautiful!"

"You like it then?" he asked.

Charlotte could only nod. She could not take her eyes off the object in her hands. It was the single most beautiful thing she had ever, ever seen. She had seen other glass roses before, years ago when they had lived in the city, but none of them had been like this. None of them had been colored, or looked so lifelike. This rose looked so real that she was sure if she lifted it to her nose it would have a scent. If she had been so inclined, she could have plucked off the petals.

"Where did you get this, Papa?" she asked. "And how much did you pay for it? It's wonderful!" Gently, she transferred the rose to one hand and reaching up with the other arm to wrap it around his neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Mr. Morris looked at her with tears in his eyes. "I paid a great price for it," he said. "A great price. Your rose cost me more than your sisters' presents put together."

"Papa, you didn't have to do that," said Charlotte. "I only wanted a little one, made of clear glass, something I could keep on my desk at school for the children to look at. This—I don't know what to do with it! It's too beautiful to do anything with! Wherever did you get it?"

Mr. Morris was spared from answering by Dorine and Petunia, who rushed back into the room, clutching the golden gown and the ruby and emerald necklace respectively, and flung their arms around him. Charlotte pulled away quickly so they wouldn't break her rose. She got to her feet and slipped out of the room, her mind whirling. What was wrong with her father? Why wouldn't he tell her where he had gotten the rose? Surely no glassmaker in the city—in the whole country!—made such beautiful glass roses. What had he meant about how much he had paid for the rose? He had looked so sad when he'd said it.

_He's hiding something, _she thought. _He's trying to keep something from us, from me. _Horrible ideas raced through her head. She lay down in the room she shared with her sisters but found she couldn't sleep a wink all night. _I have to find out what he's hiding,_ she decided. _I must find out._

The next day, Charlotte tried to fish the truth out of her father at every opportunity. He was feeling poorly enough that he decided not to go to the shop that day. Charlotte tended him—making him soup and tea, bringing him blankets when he felt cold, and questioning him every chance she got. She asked him what his business had been exactly. She asked him how long it had taken, and why he had be away so long after his business was finished. She asked for the names of the tailor and the jeweler and finally the glassmaker. He avoided every one of her attempts to pry the answer out of him. She persisted.

Finally, after supper, he gave in and confessed. He told her the whole story of getting lost and ending up in the beast's home and taking the rose. He told her of the promise he had made.

When he had finished the story, he said with tears in his eyes, "I will go back myself at the end of the week and let the beast do what he wants with me. Tom Bell can take over the shop and support you; he asked me months ago about courting Dorine. With that and your school salary you girls should be able to get along without me, and once your sisters are married you won't even need Tom's help. This is the best way."

Charlotte sat in complete silence for nearly ten minutes after he finished, trying to take it all in. It sounded rather like one of the stories she might have made up for her students. A talking beast living in the middle of the forest and protecting a glass rose? It could have come straight out of a fairy tale. And yet it was real. It had to be real. Her father did not make up stories the way she did, and she had seen the fear and the sorrow in his eyes. What made it worse was that he planned to sacrifice himself to this beast to spare her, when it had been her foolish request that had caused all of this. He planned to take her place, to let the beast devour him for breaking his promise, so that she could live and care for her sisters until they got married. It was noble, and perhaps what a father ought to do for his child, but it was not right. Charlotte could not have managed the household all by herself and she knew it would all fall to her. She would not be able to explain to her sisters why their father had disappeared. She would not be able to tell them why he would not give them away when they married or why he would never hold his grandchildren. In those ten minutes, Charlotte made a decision that would change her life forever.

"You can't go, Papa," she said at last. "We need you. I'll go. The beast asked for me and perhaps, if I bring back the rose, he'll let me come home again. If not—" She faltered, but only for a moment. "If not, well, no one really needs me here. They can get a new teacher, and it's not as if I'm engaged. Once Petunia marries Wilbur you won't need me to bake, his cook can take care of everything, or you can hire someone for that. With me gone, there'll be more money for that sort of thing. I'll go to Lord Verdon tomorrow and tell him that I can't teach anymore. There are two weeks left before school starts; he can find someone to take my place. Then I'll spend the rest of the week here and then I'll go."

"No, Charlotte," said her father. "I will go. I cannot send you to that monster. Not when it was my own foolishness that caused the trouble."

"It wasn't _your_ foolishness, Father," said Charlotte, "it was mine. I asked for the rose in the first place. I thought it would be something easy to find, something simple. But it's caused all this trouble. I asked for it, and I ought to pay for it." She lifted her chin boldly. "Even if it means paying for it with my life."

"You will not go," her father said, his chin rising in the same way hers had. "I won't let you. I'll lock you in the house if I have to, Charlotte. You will not go."

"What's to stop me from leaving after you go yourself? I could find the beast's castle and beg him to let you go."

"He might eat me first."

Charlotte paused for a moment. Then she said, "He might come here to get me before you even get a chance to leave. He said that he would come after me if you didn't send me within a week."

"He said that he would come and kill me if I didn't send you within a week," her father corrected.

"If he comes, I will explain to him that you kept me here against my will but that I'm willing to go with him."

"And what if he kills us all before you can say a word?"

"And what if you just let me go, Papa, and we forget the idea of anyone's dying?"

Mr. Morris sighed. "I can see it's no use arguing with you, Charlotte," he said. "I will not stop you. But I will regret this for the rest of my life…"

Charlotte smiled and laid a hand on his arm. "You may not have to. If the beast takes the rose back and lets me come home, all of this will be over in little more than a week." She looked at the clock. "It's late. We should both go to bed. Tomorrow morning I'll go to Lord Verdon and tell him to find a new teacher. I love you, Papa." She stood up and kissed his cheek.

"I love you too, Charlotte," he said as she left the room. Both of them went to bed that night with heavy hearts, one resolved to do her duty, the other resigned to the fact that he could not change her mind.


	9. Chapter 9: BatB Scene 5

**Beauty and the Beast**

**by: Tiger Lily21**

**Scene 5: In which Charlotte Leaves Home and Ends Up...Somewhere**

**A/N: Here is the next scene/chapter-type-thing of "Beauty and the Beast". I wasn't going to post it until I had the next one started, but the next one won't start and so I'm posting this for something to do. I'm also not sure if I like the last two paragraphs in this bit or if they should go in the next one. I'm going to post this and go to dinner and hopefully after that I'll get some inspiration on this. Otherwise I'll have to put off writing until late tomorrow. I have to take the Praxis I tomorrow morning and then I have cookies to bake and a tea party with some friends...Maybe I can write while I bake cookies...**

**Anyways, thanks for the review(s?) on the last bit. I'm glad you all are enjoying this so much.**

* * *

The rest of the week passed entirely too quickly for both Charlotte and her father. Charlotte dutifully went to Lord Verdon the next day and explained that she would not be able to teach anymore. Lord Verdon was sorry to let her go and tried to convince her to stay (after all, she was the best teacher Linchester had had for a long time) but Charlotte was adamant. As she left the manor, she stopped in the kitchen to ask the cook to be sure and send over food for her family until they hired a cook of their own. The cook promised that he would.

Charlotte avoided telling her sisters that she was leaving until the day before she had to go. When she finally did, they were both indignant.

"How can you leave us at a time like this?" Petunia demanded. "Just when Wilbur is about to propose and I need you to be in my wedding party and to bake our cake and help me plan! I cannot do it alone, you know."

"I'm sure you'll manage," said Charlotte, "and Lord Verdon's cook can make a much better cake than I can. As for being in your wedding party, I'm not sure there's anything I can do about it. I'm very sorry, but I have to go."

"Where are you going exactly?" asked Dorine. "You didn't say."

"I'm going to see the person who sold Papa the rose he brought back for me," said Charlotte, thinking that it wasn't really a lie. The beast had sold the rose to her father. He had just demanded a much higher price than any glassmaker ever would.

"Why do you need to go? What's so important about that stupid rose that you have to go see the man who made it?" snapped Dorine.

"It's not the man who made it, it's the man who sold it," said Charlotte, "and I'm going to see him because he asked Papa to pay far too much for it. I'm going to renegotiate the price or die trying." The irony of the statement hit her just after she said it.

"Why can't Papa do it, though?" asked Petunia. "After all, he's the one who bought it."

"Papa has responsibilities here," Charlotte said, choosing her words carefully. "He wanted to go back but I told him that he had to stay and mind the store. Since I'm not teaching this year, I have the time to go and talk to the man."

"Will you be back?" asked Dorine. "How long will it take to get to this man and convince him to give some of Papa's money back?"

"I'm not sure," said Charlotte. "I'll be back when I'm back, I suppose. I've made all the arrangements for you to be taken care of and when Papa hires a maid you won't even need me anymore. I should go pack now. I'm leaving in the morning." She left the room before her sisters could protest any more.

In her bedroom, she pulled an old carpetbag off the top of the wardrobe, where it had lived since their move to Linchester. Charlotte shook the dust off it and began packing her things in it. She put in only two dresses, a book, and a few keepsake items. Whether the beast devoured her or let her come home, she would not need anything for more than a few days. She wrapped the glass rose in her best shawl and placed it gently on the top of the other items in the bag. Then she closed it and placed it carefully at the foot of her bed. It hurt, in a way, to see her whole life packed up in a single carpet bag. Charlotte walked to the door and closed it. Then she made her way back to her bed, lay down on it, and allowed herself to cry into her pillow. She fell asleep with tears still running down her cheeks.

The next morning Charlotte woke early. She slipped off her bed, being careful not to wake her sisters. She took her best dress out of the wardrobe and put it on, then picked up her carpetbag. She paused in the doorway to look back at her sleeping sisters. "Goodbye," she whispered.

She tiptoed out of the room and down the hall to where her father slept. His door was open slightly. She pushed it open more and saw him, sleeping peacefully in his bed. "Papa," she whispered. He did not stir. That was good, she decided. If he woke up, he might try to stop her. "Papa," she whispered again, "I'm going now. I love you. Goodbye."

She took one last look at her father and then slipped out of his room and closed the door again. She carried her bag with her to the kitchen where she took a loaf of bread out of the cupboard. She cut a slice for herself then opened the carpetbag and placed the rest of the loaf inside. She did not know how long it would take her to find the beast's home but she would need something to eat on the way. She pushed away the thought that she was feeding herself up to be more appetizing for the beast. Munching on her bread, she walked to the front door. She opened it as quietly as she could and stepped out into the crisp morning air. Then she turned and took one last look at the cottage that had been her home for the past fifteen years. After fixing it in her memory, she walked around the side of the house and headed into the forest beyond.

She had absolutely no idea where she was really going. Her father had refused to tell her how to get to the beast's home and she suspected that he did not really know. She walked in what she thought was the right direction, not following the path but simply picking her away across the forest floor. Normally the thought of wandering through the dark forest on her own would have frightened her, but she reminded herself that her father had not found the castle by staying on the path. He had wandered off it and gotten lost. It made sense, then, that the way to find the beast's home was to wander around without really looking for it. Charlotte laughed at herself for that logic. How could you find something by not looking for it? How could you get to your destination if you purposely got lost?

Really, though, if you want to be logical, this whole thing is ridiculous, she thought. A talking beast gave my father a glass rose in exchange for my life, and I am going back to the beast with the rose even though I am fairly sure he will eat me when I get there.

She shook her head and continued walking. She could see the sun through the trees. It was nearing the highest point of its journey across the sky. She decided to sit down and eat before continuing. After all, the beast did not say what time today he wanted me to arrive. I won't be late so long as I get there before midnight. She laughed at herself and thought of the tale of the servant girl who disguised herself as a lady and went to a royal ball but had to be home by midnight so her mistress wouldn't suspect. I have the opposite problem, she thought. I need to be away from home by midnight or the beast will be displeased. She wondered idly if her story could possibly have the happy ending the servant girl's story had. The servant girl ended up going back to the palace and marrying the gentleman she had danced with at the ball. Would she ever get to leave the beast's home and go back to her father and sisters?

Don't think about it, she told herself. You'll only make yourself homesick and then you'll lose your nerve and the beast will hunt you down and kill you and Papa. And then were will you be?

Firmly pushing all thoughts of her possible fate out of her head, she continued on. The sun sank lower and lower in the sky. The forest grew dark. Charlotte began to wish she had thought to bring a lantern with her. When it grew too dark to see more than a few feet ahead, she stopped again and sat down under a tree. "This is where I have to stop," she said aloud. "I can't go any further tonight. If you wanted me there in one day, Sir Beast, you might at least have sent a carriage or a horse to get me to you faster." She closed her eyes and fell asleep before she could wonder why she was addressing the air as if it could carry her words to the beast.

Charlotte woke to the smell of fresh bread, warm apples and cinnamon, and sausages. At first she thought she was at home, that the walk through the forest the previous day had all been just a dream and she was safe. But no. She was the one who did the cooking at home, so the house should not smell of food at all. She opened her eyes and found herself in a completely unfamiliar room. She was lying on a comfortable sofa. There was a fire in the hearth and a table set with breakfast nearby: a golden loaf of bread, baked apples, and sausage

_Either I have arrived at the beast's home somehow or I've been found by someone else who took pity on me and brought me home,_ she thought. Strangely, she hoped it was the former. She got up and walked over to the table. If this was the beast's home, the food would be safe to eat; her father had eaten it without any ill effects. If this was the home of someone else, the food should still be safe; who would want to harm a stranger they had brought in from the forest? In any case, it smelled too good to resist. She sat down and served herself. The bread was sweet and still warm. The apples were covered in their own juice mixed with cinnamon. The sausages were cooked to perfection. Compared to this, her own cooking was pitiful. When she could eat no more, she rose again. It was time to find out exactly where she was.


	10. Chapter 10: Batb Scene 5, Part 2

**A/N: This part technically goes with Part 5 (what I posted yesterday) but I don't want to just add it on in there. So it's getting a spot of its own right now. The story is moving along now, and if I'm really lucky, I'll get to some actual plot type stuff between Charlotte and the beast tomorrow. Meanwhile, enjoy this. Also, tell me if you think Charlotte's character is inconsistent. I'm trying to keep her consistent but I'm worried it's not working. What do you think?**

* * *

Charlotte walked to the couch where she had slept and was relieved to see that her carpetbag was on the floor next to it. She opened the bag and carefully pulled out the shawl that held the glass rose. She unwrapped it and held the rose carefully in one hand. After putting the shawl back into the bag, she walked out of the room carrying the rose. If this was the beast's home, she reasoned, she should eventually find the place her father had taken the rose from. Perhaps if she put it back in that same spot, the beast would appear. That thought was at once terrifying and strangely comforting. She was nearly at the end of her journey, for when the beast appeared he would decide her fate.

Outside the room she found herself standing at the place where three corridors met. She looked as far down each of them as she could from where she stood. The ones on the right and on the left seemed to go on for quite a while without branching off or widening. The center passage seemed to do the same, but it was wider than the other two. If any of the passages was going to lead anywhere important where the beast might have kept the rose, this one seemed the most likely. So she took it.

She came at last to an entrance hall with a large staircase and two enormous wooden doors. On the wall opposite the staircase was a little table with an empty vase. _This must be the place,_ Charlotte thought. _Either that or the owner of this place likes displaying empty vases in his entrance hall._ Smiling a bit, she walked toward the table and gently set the rose in the vase. Before she had removed her hand from it, she heard footsteps from the passage.

She turned and bit back a scream. There was the beast, exactly as her father had described him. What he hadn't said was that the beast was at least seven feet tall, stood on his hind legs, and wore the clothes of a gentleman: a black velvet suit with a white shirt under the jacket. Charlotte wondered where he had gotten clothes to fit his strange body and if he had a hole at the back of the pants for his tail.

_What a thing to think about when you're about to die_, she scolded herself. She expected the beast to lunge for her at any moment and found she could not force herself to move.

"What are you doing?" the beast asked. There was no menace in his rough voice, only curiosity. Charlotte felt the paralyzing fear begin to leave her. She cleared her throat.

"I…I was returning the rose," she said, stumbling only a little over the words. "The rose my father took. I brought it back. It's yours." She forced her hand to release it.

"You brought it back?" the beast asked. "Why would you do something like that? I never asked your father to return the rose. I only asked him to send you here."

"I know," said Charlotte, gathering her courage and looking the beast full in the face. His eyes were a strange golden brown color and they had more depth than she had ever seen in an animal's eyes.

"I know," she repeated, still staring into those golden eyes. "I was hoping that if I brought the rose back you might…might let me go home." Her last word trailed into a squeak as the beast's eyes flashed and she tore her gaze away from him.

"Just because you return the rose does not mean that your father's debt is paid," he said, his voice suddenly harsh.

"What do you plan to do with me then?" asked Charlotte, drawing her courage together again. "Eat me?"

"No," said the beast, sounding slightly taken aback. "I will not eat you. I never intended to eat you. But I will not send you home. The price of the rose is a life, and since you returned it, you will live here with it—with me—for the rest of your days."

"What?" Charlotte gasped.

"You will stay here in my castle," said the beast. "You are the mistress here now. Welcome home, Charlotte." He made an awkward bow.

Charlotte stared at him in utter bewilderment. The beast stepped forward.

"Follow me," he said. "I will take you to your new chambers. Pay attention. The hallways have a tendency to shift. With that he turned and started back down the corridor. Charlotte lingered in the entrance hall long enough to turn and see a heavy wooden bolt appear as if out of nowhere and fall into place on the front doors. There was no way she could lift it. She was trapped in the castle.

_At least he's letting me live,_ she thought and hurried after the beast.


	11. Chapter 11: BatB Scene 6a

**A/N: This part took me a while to write yesterday. The beast was being a stinker and acting entirely too mean toward Charlotte. I made him be nice, but now I'm afraid she's getting over her fear of him too quickly...Grrr...**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoy this. It is longer than the last piece I posted, though not my usual standard by any means. I'm a little stuck. This story is just starting to get interesting and I'm on part six! I'm going to keep plugging away at it, but I'm kind of thinking that this may turn into a full-fledged novel (or at least a first draft attempt at one) before the end of the month. Which is, you know, fine with me, but I'd kind of like to finish the story! Whatever. Here's this part for you. I'm going to stop rambling now and let you read.**

* * *

Charlotte followed the beast down a series of winding corridors. She tried to pay attention—the words "the hallways have a tendency to shift" rang through her head—but there were no landmarks. There were no tapestries or portraits on the wall, no windows, only gray stone and doors of dark wood every once in while. The beast strode along ahead of her, not looking back to see if she was following. She had to walk quickly to even keep him in sight. He did not speak to her at all.

As they turned a corner, Charlotte ventured a question. "If I am to stay here, I will need to send home for my clothes. I only brought a few things. Will you send someone to get them for me, or may I write a letter to my family asking them to send them?"

"You will have no need of your old clothes here," said the beast. "You are the lady of the castle now. Your old clothes are those of a common girl. You must dress according to your station. You will find a wardrobe in your room with clothes befitting of your new rank. As for your luggage, I will see that it is brought to your room."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome.

They walked a few more feet in silence. Then Charlotte hesitantly asked another question. "May I at least write to my family to tell them that I am alive?"

"You may. I will see that any letters you write are delivered."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

More silence. Charlotte sorted through the many questions whirring through her mind and found one she felt comfortable asking. "How do you know my name, sir?"

"Your father mentioned it."

"Oh." She paused. "Do you have a name, sir? It seems foolish for you to know mine while I do not know yours."

The beast did not answer for several minutes. When he did, his voice was almost wistful. "Patrick," he said slowly. "Once I was Patrick. Now I am only Beast. You may call me whatever you wish. I, like the rest of the castle and its grounds, am yours to command. You are mistress here."

"Patrick then," said Charlotte. The name was strange on her tongue, but pleasant. Besides, if he was going to call her by her given name, she might as well do him the same courtesy.

He gave her a strange look but said nothing. After another moment of silence, he stopped in front of a door. It looked the same as every other door they had passed, but Patrick brushed a large, clawed hand (was it a hand, Charlotte wondered, or a paw?)over its surface. A golden plaque appeared out of nowhere. Even as Charlotte watched, engraved letters appeared on it, spelling out "Charlotte's Room".

"How did you do that?" she asked in amazement. As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized the answer. It was magic. It had to be. She had seen magic before—some of the townsfolk were slightly gifted but most of them could do no more than light candles or summon things from across a room. This was the magic of stories. This was real magic.

"There are many secrets in this castle," said Patrick. "I hope that you will discover them during your time here. However, now is not the time for explanations or explorations. It is nearly time for the noon meal. I would suggest that you go into your room, change your clothes, and freshen up. I will return for you when the meal is ready." He bowed and walked away before Charlotte could respond. She stared after him for a moment, then reached out and turned the silver doorknob.

The door swung open to reveal the largest and most beautiful bedroom Charlotte had ever seen. The walls were painted a soft, pale green. On one wall was a four-poster bed with a quilt and pillows in the same color. A window at the far end of the room was hung with gauzy white curtains. Next to it was a wardrobe made of honey-colored wood. A dressing table made of the same wood stood across from the bed, next to a marble fireplace. Next to that was another door, which was slightly ajar.

Curious, Charlotte walked toward it, drinking in her surroundings as she went. She had never seen anything so fine, or so large! The room was twice the size of the room she shared with Dorine and Petunia at home. She could only imagine what was beyond the next door. She pushed it open and found herself in a magnificent bathroom. Most of it was taken up by an enormous bathtub and a sink with a marble countertop. The fixtures on both were made of gold. Beyond was yet another door, once again partially open.

_How many rooms has he given me?_ She wondered, pushing the new door open to reveal a sitting room painted in pale blue. One wall was hidden by several tall bookshelves, each one filled with more books than Charlotte had ever seen. Another wall held a fireplace. There were two armchairs in front of it, upholstered in the same color as the walls. There was a window-seat as well, and a desk on another wall. She wandered back into the bedroom and sank down on the bed. It was the softest thing she had ever sat on. She longed to stretch herself out on it and sink into the incredible softness. However, Patrick's words ran through her head before she could give into the impulse.

"_I would suggest that you go into your room, change your clothes, and freshen up. I will return for you when the meal is ready."_

Almost regretfully, Charlotte got off the bed and walked across the room to the wardrobe. She opened it to reveal a mass of velvet, silk, satin, and lace in every color imaginable. She searched through the gowns for quite some time before finding one simple enough to fit her taste. Even though Patrick called her a lady and the mistress of the castle, she still felt like a country schoolmarm and she was determined to dress that way.

The gown she chose was made of fine cotton in a deep green color. It had a modest neckline and a plain skirt; the sleeves were tight until they hit her elbows and then flared out into a bell shape that Charlotte rather liked. She longed to take a bath before changing, but did not know if she had time. Instead she washed her face in the sink, brushed her hair with the hairbrush (the finest one she had ever seen, with silver back and handle embossed with an intricate rose design) she found in a cupboard underneath, and put on the green gown. She swept her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck as she usually did and was digging through the bottom of the wardrobe for a pair of sensible shoes—her own were covered with dirt from the trek through the forest the day before—when someone knocked on the door.

"Just a moment!" she called, finding a pair of green slippers in the very back of the wardrobe and hurrying to put them on. As soon as she had, she closed the wardrobe and walked to the door.

She opened it to find Patrick, looking exactly as he had before, standing in the corridor. He did not smile—she hated to think what his teeth looked like—but his amber eyes were gentle, and his voice, when he spoke, was warm.

"You look lovely," he said. "Do you like your rooms?"

"Very much," said Charlotte. "They're beautiful."

"I'm glad you approve of them," he said. "I don't suppose you had a chance to look at the books in the sitting room; when you do, you must tell me if you don't like any of them and I'll replace them."

Charlotte laughed. "I probably haven't read most of them!" she said. "I've never seen so many books before in my life! I've never seen such fine _rooms_ before in my life!"

"There are many more in the castle," said Patrick, "and they are all yours now. Come, I'll show you to the dining hall. There's quite a feast waiting for us."


	12. Chapter 12: BatB Scene 6bAN7

_Last time in "Beauty and the Beast": _

__

_"There are many more in the castle," said Patrick, "and they are all yours now. Come, I'll show you to the dining hall. There's quite a feast waiting for us."_

_

* * *

_

He held out his arm. Charlotte considered taking it for a moment, and then thought better of it. For all his politeness and generosity, he was still a beast, and she did not trust him entirely--certainly not enough to take his arm. He lowered his arm slowly and walked off down the corridor ahead of her. Charlotte followed.

After a few minutes, they reached a set of double doors. Patrick pushed them open, then stepped aside. "After you, Lady Charlotte," he said with a bow.

A wave of delicious smells hit Charlotte as she walked through the doors into a large and elaborate dining hall. A long table covered with all manner of foods filled most of the room. There were only two chairs, one each on the long sides of the table. Charlotte could not hold back a gasp.

"Who made all of this?" she asked, staring at the platters of food that practically covered the table.

"The castle," said Patrick nonchalantly, sitting down on the far side of the table and pulling a platter with an entire chicken on it toward himself.

"The castle?" Charlotte repeated. "But…but how?"

Patrick ripped a large chunk out of the chicken. Charlotte noticed that his teeth were long and sharp. She shuddered slightly. He swallowed and set down the chicken.

"I told you before," he said. "There are many secrets here. You'll have plenty of time to seek them all out and solve them. Right now, though, I suggest you eat and save your curiosity for later."

* * *

**A/N: At this point I am absolutely, totally stuck and I don't like the way the Charlotte/Patrick relationship is playing out. So, I am cheating (I know, how horrible!) and skipping over some stuff to try to get the story back on track. The stuff before this will either be cut out or edited heavily once NaNoWriMo is over. In the meantime, the curtain is setting on Charlotte and Patrick in the dining hall and the day is passing uneventfully. We will assume that Charlotte goes back to her room, takes a long bath, and changes into a nightgown, then goes into the sitting room to try and write a letter to her father and explain the situation she's found herself in.**

* * *

Later that night, Charlotte sat at the desk in her new sitting room and stared down at a blank sheet of writing paper. She twirled a pen between her fingers, trying to think of a tactful way to tell her father about what had happened to her and the situation she currently found herself in. She could not come right out and say, "Father, I've made a deal with the beast and I am going to be living in his castle for the rest of my life". He would go charging into the forest—perhaps with an angry mob of villagers—to try to find the castle and rescue her, and after watching Patrick eat she had no doubt that he could be very dangerous indeed, for all that he acted like a gentleman around her. On the other hand, she could not write, "Father, I have brought the rose back to the beast and he is letting me go, but I don't know when I'll be home". She knew she would never go home. Her father would sit and watch for her. He would grow worried and it would end in the same way: with a mob of villagers attacking the castle.

_There has to be another way,_ she thought. _There has to be a happy medium, some way I can let him know I'm safe without lying and also let him know that I won't be coming home without worrying him. But how?_

She sat and chewed on the end of her pen for several minutes. At last, she decided to just begin with the facts. She set the pen to the page and wrote:

_Dear Papa,_

_I am well and safe. I reached the beast's castle last night and returned the rose. He has been very kind to me, giving me a room and meals here. _

She stopped again, unsure how to continue. What she had written so far was completely true; though it was so obscure she was not sure he would believe it. She decided to leave out the details of her deal with Patrick for a moment and skipped partway down the page to continue:

_I hope that you and my sisters are well. Have they found a new schoolteacher yet? I gave Lord Verdon several of my old students' names to consider. Victor Porgess would do very well, or Elaine Morton. Is Petunia engaged? Has Dorine accepted Tom Bell's courtship yet? He's been goggling at her for months—maybe even years now—and trying to catch her eye but she doesn't seem to notice. Maybe now that he's helping you in the shop—he is, isn't he?—she'll take more of a fancy to him. Have you hired a maid yet? I hope you have found a good one. Please tell her—whomever she is—that the oven has a tendency to smoke a bit when cooking continually, so she should give it time to rest after taking something out before putting something else in. _

The page blurred in front of her as tears stung her eyes. Thinking of home—of her father and sisters, of the children who would be so surprised to find out that she was not coming back to teach, of the dear old house with the kitchen and the fussy stove and the little garden in the back—thinking of all of it made her realize once again that she would not be able to return to any of it ever again. She was trapped here in the castle for the rest of her life, with no company other than Patrick. A few tears dropped onto her letter, smudging the ink, but she didn't care. She pushed it aside, laid the pen down, then rested her head on her arms and cried.

How long she sat there and wept, she did not know. Eventually the tears stopped but she kept her head on her arms and closed her eyes. Slowly, she drifted off to sleep.

She dreamed of her family. Her father sat in his chair by the fire and stared at the flames, his forehead creased with worry. Her sisters rushed into the room, their faces flushed with happiness and their eyes sparkling.

"Papa!" exclaimed Petunia. "What do you think? Wilbur has proposed at last!"

"And Thomas Bell has asked if he may court me!" Dorine said before Petunia had entirely finished. "Do say you'll give him permission, Papa!"

"We are to be wed in a year's time," said Petunia, as if she had not heard Dorine's news. "Just think! An autumn wedding, and Charlotte will surely be back by that time so I shall have both my sisters as bridesmaids."

"Thomas is such a handsome boy!" Dorine gushed. "I don't know why I never noticed him before! But he was in the shop all the time you were gone, Papa, and he was always very polite when I went in, and just today I went to see if you were there and he said that you weren't but he would go and find you and wouldn't I sit down and rest and have a bit of candy while I waited? And he handed me a large box of chocolates."

"She ate every one of them like a greedy pig," interrupted Petunia, "and she never offered me any!"

"You've got enough candies from Wilbur to last you a lifetime," said Dorine. "You don't need mine too!"

"I'm not surprised you only got a shop boy for a beau," Petunia said venomously. "You're such a lazy, good-for-nothing, fat, ugly, old maid!"

Dorine shrieked indignantly and leapt at her sister. Petunia threw up her hands to protect her face. Both of them screamed at once. "Papa!"

Their father finally tore his gaze away from the fire and looked at them sternly.

"Girls, please," he said in a weary voice, "don't fight. Be happy for each other. You both have fine beaus who love you very much. I should be surprised if Tom Bell doesn't propose to you within a few months, Dorine, and in the meantime you can help your sister plan her wedding."

Dorine and Petunia glared at each other for a moment. Then Dorine said, "Really there's no point in planning until Charlotte comes back. You must have her make the cake and the wedding feast, Petty, and you cannot pick colors until she's back for you know if you do pick something she'll look absolutely terrible in it."

"That's because she looks terrible in nearly everything," said Petunia. "Greens and browns and dark blues look good on her but that's about it. Those aren't wedding colors! Perhaps it's better if I just plan not to have her in the party. After all, she didn't say when she would be home."

"True," said Dorine, leading the way out of the sitting room. "Good riddance, I say. She was always a little bossy bum, always ordering us around and taking over the house with her cooking and her cleaning and her grading papers. I'm rather glad she's gone."

"I agree," said Petunia as they turned the corner. "I can find someone else to make my wedding feast, and I'm sure we could invite Julessa Marover—do you remember her from when we lived in the city?—to come and be my other bridesmaid."

They disappeared and the dream shifted back to Mr. Morris, who was still sitting dejectedly in his chair. He buried his face in his hands. "Oh Charlotte, what have I done to you?" he murmured. "I should never have agreed to let you go…What sort of father sends his own daughter to her certain death?" His voice trailed off and Charlotte heard him weeping. She longed to reach out and touch him, to tell him that she was alive and safe, but before she could the image faded.

For a time she drifted in dreamless sleep. Then another dream began.

She was in a garden, surrounded by rose bushes in full bloom. Their scent hung heavy in the air. Charlotte reached out to touch one, to see if it was real, but before her hand landed on it she heard voices coming from nearby. She pulled her hand back and turned toward the source of the voices. A young man and woman were standing a few feet away from her, completely oblivious to her presence and arguing very loudly.

"How could you be so stupid?" the woman was shouting. "How could you do that to a perfect stranger, especially one who only came to do a good deed!"

"I thought I was doing the right thing at the time!" the young man shouted back. "It's not as if I expected it to go the way it did!"

"So what would you have done if he had come instead?"

The young man faltered. "I…I don't know. I suppose I would have locked him up."

"For how long? Until he apologized? Until he died?"

"I don't know! I don't know what to do now either! If you were here you could help me find a solution! If you had been here when I needed you, I wouldn't be in all this mess in the first place!"

The woman flushed angrily. "You're blaming this on me? You're the one who went around chasing strange women and building them rooms and making all sorts of promises that you knew you couldn't keep! The mess you're in is your fault, and you're lucky I'm trying to help you!"

"You wouldn't need to help me if you hadn't left!"

"I didn't _want_ to leave! I was sent away!"

"You could have come back before you did! You didn't have to stay away _that_ long!"

"I fell in love!" the woman cried, throwing her hands up in the air. "I met a man and I fell in love and so I married him. It's a perfectly normal thing to do."

"So is visiting!" the man shouted.

"We lived across the ocean! Do you know how long it takes to sail across the ocean? Or did you slack off in your Geography lessons as well as your Manners ones? I have half a mind to leave you now and see where you get on your own, you spoiled, selfish little brat!"

The man's face crumpled. He reached out and grabbed the woman's hand. "No. No, don't go. I'm sorry. It's just…I don't know how to act around her. I've been alone so much, it's been so long…I've forgotten how to act around other people."

The woman smiled and cupped his face in her hands. "Just be yourself," she said. "Your real self—the sweet, kind, goodhearted man I know is in there somewhere. I won't go anywhere. I'll stay here and help you."

"Thank you," the man murmured.

The woman wrapped her arms around him. He bent his head down and leaned it on her shoulder. She stroked his hair and kissed his cheek. Then she noticed Charlotte, who was watching all of this with a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and embarrassment.

"Oh dear!" said the woman, releasing the man abruptly. "What are you doing here? I didn't mean for—I suppose after that other—Oh dear!"

The young man looked where she was looking and his mouth fell open. His eyes, which Charlotte noticed for the first time were a golden amber color, widened in horror. "She can't be here!" he said. "I thought this was—"

The woman pressed a hand to his mouth. "I'll take care of this," she said. "You go and wait for me on the bench."

The man nodded. She released him and he walked away through the roses. Once he was out of sight, the woman walked to Charlotte.

"In some ways, I wish I could let you remember what you've seen here," she said. "It would help you tremendously. But it's against the rules. I don't know how you got here."

Charlotte tried to come up with a reply. "I…I'm sorry?" she ventured.

The woman laughed. "Don't be sorry! It's not your fault. It's mine actually. This is what I get, trying to send two dreams in one night. I must have mixed them. Did you enjoy the one I sent you, by the way? Well, I suppose you couldn't really enjoy it; that's not a pleasant thing to see. But did you like it?"

"I…I…yes," said Charlotte, still unsure what any of this meant. "It was good to see my family."

"Good," said the woman. "I'll let you keep that one then. But this one, I'm afraid, you'll have to give up."

"Give up?" Charlotte repeated.

"I'm afraid so," said the woman and she pressed a cool finger to Charlotte's forehead. Green light flashed before her eyes and then she sank into the blankness of dreamless sleep once more.

Charlotte woke with a jolt and realized she was still at her desk. She had fallen asleep and dreamed of her family. Her father missed her and her sisters were both too involved in their romantic relationships to see it. She shook her head slightly to clear it and then pulled the letter she had begun before back toward her. Picking up her pen again, she copied the beginning of the letter onto a clean page.

_Dear Papa,_

_I am well and safe. I reached the beast's castle last night and returned the rose. He has been very kind to me, giving me a room and meals here._

She paused for a moment, and then continued with what she hoped was a diplomatic but truthful explanation of her current situation.

_I do not know when I will be allowed to return home, but I will try my very best to find a way back to you. _

_Do not worry about me, dear Papa. As I said before, the beast has been very kind to me. I do not think he will harm me. I will try to find a way to come home, but in the meantime I beg you not to mourn me or lament allowing me to do what I have done. I do not regret it, and as you see from this letter, I have lived. Go on with your life, Papa, and think of me only with fondness. _

She added the rest of the letter exactly as she had written it before, then added one more paragraph and a closing.

_I hope that you and my sisters are well. Have they found a new schoolteacher yet? I gave Lord Verdon several of my old students' names to consider. Victor Porgess would do very well, or Elaine Morton. Is Petunia engaged? Has Dorine accepted Tom Bell's courtship yet? He's been goggling at her for months—maybe even years now—and trying to catch her eye but she doesn't seem to notice. Maybe now that he's helping you in the shop—he is, isn't he?—she'll take more of a fancy to him. Have you hired a maid yet? I hope you have found a good one. Please tell her—whomever she is—that the oven has a tendency to smoke a bit when cooking continually, so she should give it time to rest after taking something out before putting something else in. _

_Please write and tell me all the news from home. I miss you and my sisters terribly and will try to come home as soon as I possibly can. I do not know when that will be, but I will try. That is all I can promise. I love you, Papa._

_Your daughter,_

_Charlotte_

She set down her pen and blew on the ink a bit to dry it. She read through it to check for errors, then, satisfied that there were none, she folded it carefully and addressed it. She reminded herself to look for sealing wax in the morning and to give the letter to Patrick to send. Then she rose and walked through the bathroom to her bedroom, where she allowed herself the pleasure of lying on her infinitely soft bed. Despite her nap earlier, she slowly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

**A/N2: Righty. So I know this still isn't the 5,000 word things I was pouring out earlier this month, but it's what I've got and someone asked me to post as soon as I had more, so here's more. It is twice as much as the last chapter (I think; maybe almost twice as much). Anyways, let me know what you think. Your reviews always make my day! :-)**

**--Anne**


	13. Chapter 13: BatB Scenes 8 to 10a

**A/N: Hey guys! Here I am again with another update. :-) I think I might actually finish NaNoWriMo. I'm at 47,323 words (or thereabouts) and I start Thanksgiving break tomorrow afternoon, so I will have nearly a week to write and not really do much else. :-) Anyways, here's another part and I hope you enjoy it. I'm already working on the next part, so hopefully that'll be ready in a day or two. **

* * *

Warm sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains. Charlotte rolled over, trying to ignore the light and sleep for a few more minutes. It was no use. The golden light was relentless. After several futile attempts to go back to sleep, Charlotte sat up and stretched. She swung her feet over the side of the bed, expecting to feel hard wooden floors under them. Instead her toes sank into thick, soft carpet. The memories of the previous day flooded back to her and she realized where she was. She stood abruptly, intending to go to the sitting room to search for sealing wax. Then she looked down at herself. She was still wearing her nightgown.

_Eat and get dressed, then take care of the letter, _she told herself. _It would not do for Patrick to see you in your nightdress when you give him the letter and ask him to send it. _

Thus settled on a more practical plan of action, she crossed the room to the wardrobe. She was surprised to find, when she opened it, that the mess of fine fabrics and fancy gowns was gone. Instead the wardrobe was filled with a number of plain, sensible dresses in various colors and fabrics. Charlotte pulled out several and admired them—despite their plain appearance they were finer than anything she'd ever had. After a bit of deliberation, she chose a deep blue dress, which she carried into the bathroom. After changing into it, washing her face, and pulling her hair back in her usual bun, she returned to the bedroom and knelt to find a pair of shoes. She discovered that the shoes too had been replaced. The dainty silk high heeled shoes and the jeweled slippers were gone. She found a pair of simple black slippers in the bottom of the wardrobe and put them on.

Upon rising, she noticed that there was a tray on the vanity table by the window. There were two slices of toast with jam, a mug of tea, scrambled eggs and several sausages. Charlotte sat and ate, enjoying every bite. One good thing about living in the castle, she decided, was not having to make her own meals. The castle cooked much better than she ever had.

When she had finished eating, she walked through the bathroom to the sitting room, where she found her letter sitting on the desk exactly where she had left it.

On top of the letter was a small, silver seal. Charlotte picked it up and studied it. The seal was an elegant C with a rose on it. There was a stick of deep green sealing wax next to the letter. Charlotte smiled and reminded herself to thank Patrick for the ring and the wax when she asked him to post the letter.

It took her only a few minutes to seal the letter. Once the wax had cooled, she picked it up and left the sitting room through the door that led to the corridor. She had no idea where Patrick might be, but it wouldn't hurt to do a little exploring in order to find him. Letter in hand, she set off down the corridor and opened the first door she passed.

She found herself in an elaborate ballroom, with a smooth marble floor and a high, vaulted ceiling. As she walked in, Charlotte noticed a thick layer of dust on the floor. The room had obviously not been used for years. _What use would a beast have for a ballroom, though? It's not as if he has anyone to dance with anyways_, she thought. She walked the perimeter of the room, pausing to peer out the tall windows on the far end of the room. They were so covered in dust that she could not see hardly anything, only a faint outline of bushes, or possibly trees. At last she reached the doors again and walked out of the ballroom, shutting the door in her wake.

She continued on down the corridor and stopped at the next door. It would not open. She tugged at the handle, but it was no use. The door was locked. Only slightly disappointed, Charlotte gave up and walked further down the hall to the next door. That too was locked. Charlotte kept walking and before long she came to a place where the hallway joined with another one and branched off in two directions. Charlotte chose the left one without much thought and continued on her way. For a long while she passed only blank walls. At last, she came to a door. It was larger than the others, and the dark wood was carved with intricate designs: swirls and curlicues and vines and roses. Charlotte stared at the carvings for quite some time, and somehow, as she stared, letters emerged, forming a word of some sort. She squinted and slowly the letters formed into a name: Mirella. Another word appeared as she continued to study the pattern: Room. Mirella Room. No…Mirella_'s_ Room. Who was Mirella? Intrigued, Charlotte reached out and tested the handle. She expected it would be locked. To her surprise, the knob turned and the door swung slowly open.

A sharp, sweet smell hit Charlotte in a wave, nearly overpowering her. She took a step back, then moved forward again, determined to see what was in the room that was making that smell. It hit her again but she resisted the urge to gag at the sheer sweetness of it. It was like eating a bowl of sugar in one go, like gobbling down an entire box of chocolates. It was disgustingly sweet. She forced herself forward into the room.

It was as large as her own new bedroom. It might have been her room if it hadn't been painted a horrible, vivid pink. It was so bright that it hurt her eyes just to look at it. In the very center of the room was an enormous canopy bed. It was piled high with pale pink blankets and lacy pillows. The smell seemed grew stronger as Charlotte approached the bed, but she could identify nothing that could be making it. She touched the bedclothes gingerly with one hand. She was not sure what she expected when she pulled it back: some sort of liquid or ooze, perhaps a color. Nothing. Still curious, she bent down and looked under the bed. Nothing. Not even dust.

_That's odd,_ Charlotte thought. _The ballroom was covered in dust. This room can't have been used—there's no one named Mirella here as far as I can tell. So why is it spotless? Obviously the castle doesn't clean all its rooms if they're unused, so it can't have been cleaning this one and none of the others. Something strange is going on here…_

Before she had a chance to think any more about what could possibly be going on, she heard a growl. Then a voice from the doorway said, "What are you doing here?"

Charlotte tried to stand up so quickly that she banged the top of her head on the bed. She cried out in pain and took a step back, then straightened and turned around, one hand going to the back of her head to rub the sore spot.

"What are you doing here?" Patrick repeated. His fur was standing on end and his teeth were bared. "How did you find this room? How did you get in?"

"I…I just found it," stammered Charlotte, "and I turned the knob and it opened. I didn't know I wasn't allowed in here…I'm sorry." She hung her head.

"Did no one ever tell you the danger of opening doors when you don't know where they lead?" Patrick snarled.

"I didn't think—" Charlotte began.

"No, you didn't," Patrick interrupted. "Now you do. You must be very careful what doors you open here, Charlotte. Despite the fact that you are the mistress of the castle, it is not entirely under your control. I told you yesterday that there are secrets here. Some of them are very dangerous. From now on, you are not to go poking around without me. Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Charlotte meekly.

"Come with me," said Patrick. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. Charlotte followed him. Once she was in the corridor, Patrick pulled the door shut hard. He kept his paw on the knob for a moment. For a moment Charlotte thought she smelled something—it was like evergreens and some sort of spice. Before she could identify it, it was gone.

Patrick removed his paw from the knob. "If you ever see this door again, you are to walk past it without going in again," he said. "What were you doing wandering the corridors anyways?"

"I was looking for you," said Charlotte and held out her letter. "I wrote this last night and I wanted to send it. I had a dream last night, you see, and Papa is very worried about me. The sooner this gets to him, the sooner he'll be reassured."

"You had a dream?" Patrick repeated. His fur was no longer on end, but his eyes were filled with apprehension. "What sort of dream?"

"A very clear one," said Charlotte. "Clearer than any I've ever had before. That's why I'm sure it was true. I saw my father and my sisters in our house. Why?"

"You're sure it was about your family?" Patrick asked.

"I know what they look like," Charlotte snapped. "Why?"

Patrick muttered something under his breath that sounded like, "Thank goodness." His amber eyes grew distant for a moment. Then, as suddenly as he had drifted away, he snapped back. "Give me the letter," said he said gruffly. "I will see that it's sent."

Charlotte handed it over. He tucked it into a pocket of the velvet jacket he wore, and then continued. "In the meantime, since you seem so keen on exploring your new home, I'll give you a tour and show you all of the rooms you are allowed to enter. Follow me."

"Where have you gone already?" Patrick asked as they walked.

"I only got into one other room," said Charlotte. "A ballroom. I tried other doors but they were locked."

"As they should have been. Very well. If you find the ballroom door again, you may go in, though what you'd do in there I don't know. I'll make sure the door is marked so you know it's safe."

"How will you mark it?" Charlotte asked.

"You'll know which doors are marked and which aren't," said Patrick shortly and continued on his way. Charlotte rushed to follow him. He led her down the corridor, passing several doors before stopping again. "This one, for instance."

It looked just like every other door she'd seen, except for the one to the strange pink room. "This is the library," he said, pushing the door open. "I selected the books that are in your sitting room from here, but if you find any you like more than the ones you have, feel free to take them."

He stepped aside to reveal the largest, most beautiful library Charlotte had ever seen. Bookshelves lined every wall and reached from floor to ceiling. Every shelf held books in every size and color imaginable. Charlotte felt her breath catch in her throat. The books in her sitting room were nothing compared to this. She stood in the doorway, unable to believe that this room could possibly be real. She was afraid that if she took a step-if she so much as breathed-the room would vanish.

"Go on," said Patrick from behind her. "Find one you like."

"I haven't even started reading the books in the sitting room yet," she whispered. "I'll never read all these books."

Patrick laughed. "You have years to try," he said. "Would you like to explore it now or continue on with the tour?"

Charlotte looked for a moment at the shelves and shelves of books in the library. Then she thought of the three tall bookcases in her sitting room, which she had not even touched yet. "Let's continue, please," she said, walking back out into the corridor. "I'll find the library again later."

"As you wish," said Patrick and shut the door. Again he kept his paw on the knob for a moment and Charlotte smelled the same scent as before: evergreens and that strange spice. What was it? She sniffed carefully, but the scent disappeared before she could quite figure it out as Patrick removed his paw from the knob and started down that hall.

**Skipping again, because this story is moving like a slug. So, they complete the tour and Charlotte sees the gardens and the music room and the sunroom and various other places. She and Patrick have lunch together and she asks him about "Mirella's Room". He refuses to tell her anything about it. Charlotte goes back to her room and time goes on. Before she knows it she's spent three months at the castle. She and Patrick have lunch and dinner together every day. He gradually grows more open with her. **

**One day Charlotte is in the sunroom—which has become one of her favorite places in the castle—and Patrick comes in and actually starts a conversation. The scene goes like this:**

Charlotte sat on the window seat in the sunroom, staring out at the rose garden with a book open in her lap. She had abandoned the book in favor of looking out the window several minutes before, when the words in the book had jogged something in her memory. _The scent of roses filled the air of the place. It rushed over her in waves. Voices drifted toward her on the scented air._ For the life of her Charlotte could not figure out what the words reminded her of.

Heavy footsteps padded on the carpet behind her. Charlotte turned from the window to see Patrick standing a few feet away with an odd look in his amber eyes. Over the past few months she had learned to read his eyes in the way she normally read people's faces. All his emotions were there, though they rarely showed on the rest of his face. Today there was a mixture of fear and sadness in them.

"Hello," she said, trying to pretend she hadn't noticed his eyes.

"What did I take you from?" he asked, ignoring her greeting. "What were you before you came here?"

Charlotte dropped the book in surprise. "Why do you ask?"

"Just tell me," said Patrick. "What did I take you away from?"

"I was a teacher," said Charlotte briskly, wondering why he was asking these questions but deciding that it was best to answer him. She had never seen him in a mood like this before. What had gotten into him?

"A teacher?" he repeated. "What sort of teacher?"

"Just an ordinary school teacher," said Charlotte. "I taught reading, writing, arithmetic, science, history, geography—the normal things you teach in a school. Why?"

Patrick ignored the question. "Your students-do they miss you?"

"I expect so," said Charlotte, "but I've been gone three months. They have a new teacher now. I'm sure they don't miss me too much."

"There must be something they'd miss about you," he said. "Something that new teacher can't do."

Charlotte sighed. "Yes. They must miss the stories."

"The stories?" he repeated.

"I used to tell them a story every day, right before they went home."

"What sort of stories?" Patrick asked.

"Just ordinary stories," said Charlotte. "Fairy stories, mostly. Just the sort of thing your mother would tell you before you went to bed."

Something flickered in Patrick's eyes for a moment but soon it was replaced by curiosity. He took a step closer. "Would you tell me one?" he asked slowly.

Charlotte smiled. She had missed telling stories. She thought for a moment and then chose one—not the tale of the glass rose; that might hit too close to home. She chose a different tale, a simple one. There would be time to tell him other stories. "Very well," she said. "Sit down and listen carefully."

Patrick obediently sat on the floor in front of the window seat. Charlotte bit back a giggle, seeing him sitting there, looking for all the world like one of her old students. _Except none of them had fur and claws and fangs, and none of them were quite as large as he is,_ she thought. Then she composed herself and began her story.

**A/N: Charlotte's story coming next section. I would have put it in here but (a) it's not done yet and (b) I had about 3,000 words so I figured I should post. Hope you enjoyed this! :-)**


	14. Chapter 14: BatB 10b and 11a

**A/N: Hey there! Here's the next part. I'm going to try to finish this story soon. I did get to 50,000 words back on Tuesday night. Yay!!!! However, just because I reached the goal doesn't mean I'm going to stop writing. I want to finish this and another story I've started (see the note below). I'm thinking about pulling this and making it a new story, but I think I'll wait until I finish it. **

**Anyways, here's the story (including the note below). Enjoy, and thanks for all the reviews on the previous chapter!**

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**Note: This story is not the one that's supposed to be here. It was supposed to be a SHORT story featuring my muse, Ariella, who has persistently been trying to get her own story for about six years now. I started working on it, but the story exploded and I decided it would be better to get on with Charlotte's story than to take a break to work on Ariella's. If I finish Charlotte before the end of the month, I will post Ariella's story as a separate piece in this collection. Otherwise I'll wait and try to expand it someday and turn it into a novella. In the meantime, here is the story that I've decided Charlotte should tell. I'm keeping Ariella's story as part of my word count, because it was supposed to be part of NaNoWriMo anyways, but it won't go up here until this one gets finished. Oh, and for the record, I don't like the way I wrote Charlotte's story. It's confusing me, and I'm writing it. Oh well. That's what editing's for. **

"_Once upon a time there lived a gentleman's daughter who was forced to become a servant after her father died and his fortune went to her wicked stepmother. The girl worked diligently—cooking, cleaning, and following any order her stepmother gave her, but she longed to escape her stepmother's cruel clutches."_

Patrick was an excellent audience. He laughed in all the right places and the emotions changed in his eyes as she told the story. When the girl's stepmother refused to let her go to the ball, Charlotte could have sworn she heard him growl. He calmed down as Charlotte told of how the girl's godmother came to help her when the stepmother left for the ball. The godmother gave the girl fine clothes and a pair of beautiful golden slippers and sent her to the ball in a beautiful coach.

"_The girl entered the ball and immediately all eyes were on her. The crown prince asked to dance with her and would have kept her to himself all night if the girl had not reminded him that he had other guests. At the end of the night he caught her again and they danced once more before the clock struck twelve. Then the girl ran._" Charlotte saw fear in Patrick's eyes as she described the frenzied run from the palace back to the house and how the girl lost one of the golden slippers on the way. She paused.

"Is that the end?" Patrick demanded. "She just runs away and goes back to being a servant?"

"I never said it was the end," said Charlotte. "She does go back, but only so her stepmother doesn't suspect that she was the girl at the ball. May I continue now?"

"Of course," said Patrick. He fell silent and Charlotte finished the story.

"_The girl wasn't sure what to do the next day, but soon a messenger came to the door from the king. The prince was searching for the woman who had lost the shoe and had vowed to marry her. Any girl who wished to try on the shoe must go to the palace. The girl wasn't sure how she would ever make it out of the house again but that night, when her stepmother was asleep, she called her fairy godmother and explained the problem. Her fairy godmother offered to use her magic to send the girl to the palace, but the girl found that she was not sure she wanted to marry the prince. She had only danced with him twice the night before and she did not know him very well. She was not sure if he wanted to marry her because he'd liked her or because of how she had looked the night before. The godmother proposed a compromise. If the prince was going to test her with the shoe, then she would test him. She was to go to the palace in her servant clothes instead of in the fine gown she'd worn the night before. If the prince still agreed to marry her when the shoe fit then he might be worth marrying. If he rejected her, the godmother would help her escape her stepmother and find somewhere else to go. The girl thought this was a brilliant idea and allowed the godmother to transport her to the palace right away._

"_She had to wait on a long line of girls. All of the girls ahead of her were dressed in fine clothes. No one paid much attention to the servant girl. Those who did notice her sneered, but the girl ignored them. At last it was her turn to try on the shoe. She approached the prince, who was standing beside a stool holding the golden shoe. He looked weary. 'What is your name?' he asked._

"'_Cynthia,' said the girl. 'Cynthia Reland.' _

"'_And you truly believe that you are the girl I danced with last night, Cynthia Relland?' the prince asked, his mouth twisting in an ugly sneer. _

"'_I know I was,' said Cynthia, liking him less and less by the moment. 'That is my golden slipper. If you do not believe me, allow me to try it on.'_

"_The prince's sneer grew, but he allowed her to sit down on the stool and slipped the shoe on her foot. It fit perfectly, of course. The prince looked disgusted. 'I won't marry a servant girl!' he said. 'I don't care if the shoe fits your foot. Take it for all I care! I'll not degrade myself by marrying a commoner.' With that he stormed out of the room, leaving a thoroughly disgusted Cynthia sitting on the stool with one golden shoe and one plain one on her feet._

"_The fairy godmother appeared a moment later and Cynthia asked her politely to take her away. The godmother obliged. She took Cynthia to the next kingdom over and got her a job in a dressmaker's shop. Cynthia proved to be a natural and she soon took over the business for the aging owner. She eventually met and fell in love with a tailor and they went into business together and eventually married. The prince married a snotty princess who made his life a misery. As for the stepmother, well, no one is sure what happened to her. She never left her home again after Cynthia disappeared. But that doesn't matter. What does matter is that Cynthia, our heroine, lived happily ever after. The end."_

Charlotte folded her hands in her lap and smiled at Patrick. "Did you like it?" she asked.

"Very much," he said. "I haven't heard a story for quite some time. Do you know any others?"

Charlotte laughed. "I know many other stories!" she said. "I told a new one every day when I was a teacher. But I won't tell more than one in a row. My voice is tired. Why don't you tell me a story now?"

Patrick's eyes flickered with an emotion Charlotte could not place—was it fear? Embarrassment? He rose abruptly.

"No," he said. "I don't know any stories, and I must be going. Forgive me for distracting you like that. I'll leave you now." He started for the door.

"Wait!" Charlotte cried, rising to her feet and rushing after him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked something like that. Please stay here with me. I enjoyed spending this time with you."

"I enjoyed it as well," said Patrick, his eyes softening. "Very well. I will stay with you."

"Thank you," said Charlotte.

"You're welcome."

They walked together to the window and resumed their places, Charlotte on the window seat and Patrick on the floor at her feet. There was a moment of awkward silence. Then Patrick asked, "What book were you reading?"

Charlotte picked up the nearly-forgotten book and held it up so he could see the title on the spine: _The Crystal Castle._ "Have you read it before?" she asked.

"No," he said. "It's been quite some time since I read any of the books in this castle. These—" he held up his paws—"make it rather difficult to turn pages."

Charlotte smiled. "I see. Couldn't you use magic to turn them?"

"I suppose I could," said Patrick, "but I have never been inclined to try."

"Would you try now?" she asked, holding out the book. She had secretly wanted to see Patrick work magic again for weeks.

"Very well," said Patrick. He took the book in his paws and laid it on the floor. He held out a paw over it. This time she saw the magic as well as smelling it. It flowed out of his paw like light, dark green, the color of pine trees. She recognized the other scent now. It was evergreens and cinnamon. As she watched, the book's cover lifted and fell back and the book opened.

"You did it!" she cried. "You did it!"

"I did it," he repeated. "I never even thought to try this!" His eyes sparkled. He raised his paws again and turned the next page. His eyes scanned over the page for a few minutes and then he turned to the next one. Charlotte watched in fascination as Patrick read. She drank in the smell of his magic, which lingered in the air now that he was using it continually. After a while, he looked up at her.

"Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"For helping me realize I could do this. I never thought of it, as I said before. I've missed reading. All these years, I've had that library full of books and I could never read them. Now—Thank you."

"I only made a suggestion," said Charlotte. "You're doing this all on your own. It's your magic."

"But it was your idea. Don't be stubborn, Charlotte. Just accept my thanks. Please."

"Very well. You're welcome. But now that you've found this new skill, would you do something for me?"

"Of course. What do you want?"

"I was hoping you would read the book aloud," she said with a smile.

Patrick's eyes returned the smile. He raised a paw and his magic turned the book back to the first page. "As you wish," he said. Then he began reading. "_It was the first day of summer. Two children sat on the edge of a babbling brook and dipped their feet in the cool water…"_

Charlotte moved off the window seat and joined him on the floor. For the rest of the afternoon, they sat together and read _The Crystal Castle_. After Patrick read several chapters, Charlotte took over. Then they switched back again. They did not even realize that the sun was going down.

*

Charlotte and Patrick left the sun room when it grew dark and went to the dining room. The castle had created a fine meal for them, as usual, and it seemed to have taken their time together that afternoon into account, for instead of the long table there was a smaller one with two chairs close together. Charlotte was glad of it, for it meant that she could sit with him and ask a few questions that had been nagging at her for months.

"I smelled something today," she said, "when you were doing your magic. And I saw something too, like green light. Was I seeing and smelling magic?"

"You were indeed," said Patrick. "And the fact that you could means you must have some yourself. Only other magicians can see and smell magic."

"Me?" Charlotte exclaimed. "Have magic? That's impossible! How can I have magic? I've never done any before."

"There is such a thing as dormant magic," said Patrick. "Magic that lies within a person and never rises to the surface. At least, it never rises in the normal way. It comes out in other ways—giving people strange talents. If it's discovered by a magician, the person can be trained and some learn to use their magic as regular magicians do."

"But I haven't got any strange talents," said Charlotte, intrigued but doubtful.

Patrick rumbled a laugh. "Are you sure?" he asked. "You have quite a gift for storytelling."

"That's not magic!" said Charlotte. "It's just a talent."

"I'm not so sure about that," said Patrick. "If you want, we can try a test after supper."

"What will I do if it turns out I do have magic?" Charlotte asked. "Would you train me?"

"If you wanted me to," he said.

"I would," she said.

"Then, if you do have magic, I shall teach you to use it."

Charlotte took a bite of her supper. _I wonder what my magic looks like,_ she wondered. _And what it smells like._

An image of a room she'd seen several months ago rose to the forefront of her mind: a viciously pink room filled with a horridly sweet smell. She bit her lip for a moment, wondering about his reaction if she asked the question that she wanted to ask. However, he had answered her other questions that evening. He might be in a good enough mood to answer this one as well. She made up her mind and, phrasing the question carefully, she allowed it to slip out.

"Patrick, that day when I stumbled upon the room you forbade me to go into—Mirella's room—I smelled something. There was a scent to the whole room, and its color was so bright. Was there magic done in that room?"

The question startled Patrick. He dropped the chicken leg he held and stared at her, his golden eyes blazing. He opened his mouth to speak but Charlotte, sensing his anger, jumped in quickly.

"I do not want to know anything about the person who lived in the room, or go into it again," she said. "I only want to know if someone did magic there once."

"Yes," said Patrick stiffly. "There was magic done in that room." He paused for a moment, then continued, "If magic is done consistently and strongly in a place, it seeps into everything and sticks there, and it can cause great damage to people who are not careful. That is why I did not want you to go in there. Promise me you will not, even if you find magic of your own."

"I promise," said Charlotte, and meant it.

Patrick picked up his chicken leg again and bit into it. Charlotte returned her attention to her own meal, and did not speak again until they had both finished eating. Then, as the empty dishes slowly vanished from the table, she dared to ask another question.

"Exactly how will you test me for magic?"

Patrick's eyes glittered mischievously. He might have been grinning. "I'll show you," he said, rising. "Let's go to the ballroom. It's large enough and empty enough that if your magic goes out of control you won't hurt anything."

The phrase "if your magic goes out of control" sent a shiver of fear down Charlotte's back. She hadn't thought that could be a possibility. "If I do go out of control, could you stop me?" she asked.

"Probably," said Patrick.

Charlotte felt some of the blood drain out of her face. "Probably?" she repeated. Suddenly the idea that she had magic frightened her. What if she couldn't control it? What if it exploded out of her and she hurt herself or Patrick? "I'm not sure I want to do this," she said.

The mischievous gleam left Patrick's eyes and was replaced by gentleness and concern. He sat back down at the table. "Charlotte," he said, "you will not lose control of your magic. If something horrible happened and you did somehow, either I or the castle would be able to stop you before you did any damage. But you will NOT lose control. The test I have in mind is very simple and won't take a lot of power. If you do have magic—and I think you have quite a lot of it—I will train you to use it properly. You have nothing to fear. Now please, come with me to the ballroom. I'll explain the test when we get there."

He stood again and offered his arm. Charlotte rose and took it, and he led her out of the dining room and down the corridor to the ballroom. He pushed open the doors.

"The test will only take a few minutes," he said, leading her inside, "but first we ought to clean this place up a bit. I forgot how dirty it is."

As he spoke, the dust began to disappear as if invisible hands were wiping it away. Candles lit on the walls around them and in the chandeliers above. The curtains on the windows flew open, revealing windows that soon gleamed and showed a view of the darkened grounds. The floor sparkled. Charlotte looked around, expecting to see Patrick's magic at work, but there was no trace of green and no scent of pines and cinnamon. It must be the castle's magic at work then. There was no color or scent to it. She wondered why that was and reminded herself to ask Patrick about it later.

When the room was spotless, Patrick led her to the very center of the room and released her arm. He took a few steps back. "Now," he said, "this test is quite simple. I believe that your magic has rooted itself in your storytelling ability. I want you to tell me the best story you know—the one that your students asked you to tell over and over again. There must be one like that. Tell it to me with as much emotion and expression as you can."

"That's it?" Charlotte asked in surprise. "Just tell a story?"

"That's all you need to do."

"But I told a story earlier today. If I had magic, wouldn't you have noticed it then?"

"I think I may have noticed something," said Patrick, "but I can't be sure. Now please, the story."

Charlotte nodded, still slightly skeptical, but she closed her eyes and thought of all the stories she knew. They flashed through her mind like pictures, images of the main characters. Most of them flew away quickly as she dismissed them. One lingered: the tale of the prince and the sorceress. Yes, that was it. That was her best story. She opened her eyes and began, allowing the story to flow out of her.

"_Once upon a time, long, long ago, a king and queen had two children, a princess and a prince…"_


	15. Chapter 15: BatB 11b12

**A/N: Righty. I know this is a little shorter than usual; most of the "scenes" I write tend to be about 3,000 words and this is only around 2,600. However, I felt like it was a good stopping place, so I stopped. Plus I felt I owed you guys an update. We're drawing closer to the end of this tale (at last). I plan on writing only two or three more "scenes" before the end. The climax approaches, my friends, and there is a turning point in this chapter. See if you can find it. Enjoy!**

She told the story better than she had ever told it before. When she finished, she felt strangely tired and dizzy. She sank slowly to the ballroom floor and sat, exhausted.

Patrick stared at her for a full five minutes without speaking. He was too far away for Charlotte to read the emotions in his eyes. She wondered what he had thought of the story. At last, he said gruffly, "You told it wrong."

"What?"

"That's not how the story goes," he said. "The end of it was wrong."

"I did not!" said Charlotte. "How do you even know what the right version of the story is? I've heard it with a lot of different endings and none of them is _wrong_. No one knows what happened to the prince after he went out to the garden. All the endings are just speculation. For all we know, it never really happened!"

"Go away!" Patrick bellowed, his fur standing on end. "Go to your room!"

"Why should I?" Charlotte screamed back at him, her temper rising. "It's just a story! Why are you so upset about it?"

"Because you told it wrong!!! Now go to your room!"

"You _asked_ for my best story! That was it! It's your own fault for asking! Don't get mad at me for telling a story you asked for!"

Patrick advanced on her, his eyes blazing. "I said go to your room!"

"I don't have to!" Charlotte screamed.

Patrick's paw flew up. Charlotte had a sudden vision of razor-sharp claws flashing before her and then felt a sharp pain in her right cheek. She stumbled back in shock and heard Patrick shout.

"Charlotte!"

Something warm and wet was trickling down her cheek. Charlotte felt dizzy and sank to the floor slowly, unsure her legs would hold her. Patrick was standing exactly where he'd been, his claws still extended and stained with what Charlotte realized was her own blood. She realized that he was in as much shock as she was and felt a wave of pity for him.

"Patrick," she said quietly. "I'm all right." It was not true; a fiery pain was running through her cheek and she could feel the blood dripping down to her neck. Even so, she hoped the words would comfort him.

They did seem to pull him out of his shock. He sheathed his claws instantly and rushed over to her. "Charlotte!" he said again. "Charlotte, I'm sorry."

"It's all right," she said. "I'm all right."

"You're not," he said. "You're hurt. I hurt you. I'm so sorry."

"You were angry," Charlotte said.

"Over a stupid story. I should have controlled myself. I should have stopped myself!"

Charlotte reached out a hand and gently touched his wrist. "I was as wrong as you," she said. "I lost my temper too, and I'm sorry for it. Will you forgive me, please?"

"O…of course," said Patrick, looking startled. "Will you forgive me?"

"Yes," said Charlotte and smiled. She instantly regretted it, as the pain in her cheek redoubled. The smile became a wince.

"I wish I could heal those," Patrick said, looking at the gashes on her cheek.

"Couldn't you?" Charlotte asked.

"No," he said. "My magic won't do that sort of thing. I…I could clean them up a bit, though."

"Please do," said Charlotte, who disliked the feeling of the blood running down her cheek.

Patrick raised his paw and released a stream of magic. The now-familiar scent of evergreens and cinnamon drifted over her as the green light flowed into Charlotte's cheek. She could feel the drying blood disappear and the pain lessened slightly. Then something warm and soft wrapped around her head and Patrick lowered his paw.

"There," he said gently. "Clean and bandaged, though it will take at least a few days to heal. Now you should rest. I'll take you to your room."

He got to his feet. Charlotte slowly got to hers, swaying unsteadily. She reached out and grabbed Patrick's arm to steady herself. Patrick looked surprised, but he let her lean on him and half-led, half-carried her out of the ballroom. The door bearing the plaque that read, "Charlotte's Room" appeared only a few feet down the corridor. Patrick opened the door with his other paw and helped Charlotte inside. She stumbled to the bed and sank down onto it.

"Thank you," she said as exhaustion washed over her.

"Do not thank me," he said. "Rest. Even with what I did, your cheek will take several days to heal." Then he turned and walked out of the room without another word. The door closed behind him.

Charlotte wanted to go after him, but she was too tired. She did not understand why. She could not have lost that much blood from three cuts on her cheek, and it was not late. Had the story taken something out of her? Had she really done magic while she told the tale? She had not felt anything, or seen anything, or smelled anything. It _had_ been her best telling of the tale, but surely that should not have taken so much out of her. She wished she knew more about magic. Did it drain people who weren't accustomed to using it? She made a note to look in the library for books on magic the next day. Then, realizing that her exhaustion was going to overwhelm her, she lay down. Almost as soon as her head touched the pillow, her eyes fluttered closed and she fell asleep and drifted into dreams.

*****

Charlotte found herself in a rose garden, looking down a path toward two people. One—a young man—was kneeling on the path with his face in his hands. Even from where she stood, Charlotte could hear him weeping. His companion, a young woman, knelt beside him and laid hands on his shoulders. Charlotte strained her ears to hear as the woman spoke to the weeping man like a mother speaking to an injured child.

"Shhh," she said. "Shhh…You have done wrong, but you made the wrong right and you have been forgiven."

"Have I?" the man asked.

"Of course you have," said the woman. "Do you not trust her words? I do. She was sincere, and she is not angry at you."

"How can you be sure?" the man asked, sounding very much like a little boy.

"I can see many things," said the woman, "and I can understand many things. I know she is not angry. She has a kind heart."

"I can't face her," the man said.

"You must face her. You made her a promise. You must keep that promise."

"I can't!"

"You must! And you aren't quiet now, you'll face her much sooner than you think, and give her more to ask you about than you wish. She's here again."

The woman rose and walked away from the young man, toward Charlotte. "Well, this time it's your own fault for invading this dream," she said with only a hint of annoyance in her voice. "You seem to have a knack for jumping into other people's dreams. I'm going to have to work harder to block you. For now, though, I'll just send you off to simpler, sweeter dreams. I will also do you a favor and help heal your cheek. You will have scars, but they will not be as bad as they could be. Go now, my dear, and Godspeed."

With that she touched Charlotte with both hands, one on her forehead and one on her right cheek. Green light—paler than Patrick's magic—burst before her. She caught one last whiff of roses and wondered if it was from the roses in the garden or from the woman's magic. Then she was plunged into darkness.

For the rest of the night, she drifted in and out of sweet and simple dreams. She woke to sunlight streaming through her window. Her cheek felt much better and the long sleep had left her refreshed. She rose and dressed, being careful to choose a dress she could put on without bumping her cheek too much. After tying her hair back with a simple white ribbon and eating some of the breakfast the castle had left on her vanity, she walked through the bathroom to the sitting room to check the shelves for any books about magic that Patrick might have given her.

To her dismay, none of the books on the shelves were books on magic. She had not really expected to find any. She left the sitting room and set off down the corridor in search of the library. It took nearly fifteen minutes to appear. When at last she saw the door—marked with a green splash of magic upon the wood and a plaque reading "Library"—she pushed it open and headed inside. Half an hour of fruitless searching later, as she replaced yet another book on the shelf, she realized that there was a much simpler solution to finding the answer she wanted. She could just ask Patrick. Laughing at herself for not thinking of it sooner, she walked out of the library again.

She had no idea where Patrick might be and wandered the corridors for some time, poking her head into any of the rooms he had marked for her and occasionally calling his name. By noon she had not found him. Still, it was lunch time. Surely he would join her for lunch. She found the dining hall and sat down to wait for him, but he did not come.

She waited half an hour before finally giving up on him and eating her cold meal. When she finished, she returned to the library, feeling dejected but resolving to find her own answers since Patrick was obviously not going to show up any time soon to answer any questions. It took her the rest of the day to find a book with the information she needed. She retreated to her rooms to read.

It was the growling of her stomach finally pulled her away from the book. She found the dining room empty again. This time she did not wait for Patrick before eating. By the time she had finished, he had not shown. Charlotte was disappointed, but not surprised. After she had eaten, she returned to her room once more to continue reading, hoping that the next day Patrick would emerge from wherever in the castle he was hiding so that she could tell him what she had learned and hold him to his promise for magic lessons.

Unfortunately for Charlotte, three days passed without a single sign of Patrick. By the morning of the fourth day, she was getting annoyed. She had finished reading the magic book and decided it was high time that she found Patrick again. She returned the book to the library and then stepped out into the corridor, her temper rising.

"This is ridiculous!" she snapped at the air. "Patrick, it's been four days! I am perfectly fine. My cheek is healed, and you made me a promise. Stop hiding and come out now, or I will open every single door in this Godforsaken castle and find you!"

No answer. Charlotte scowled and crossed her arms over her chest. "I mean it, Patrick," she said, using her sternest teacher voice. "You're acting like a child. I never put up with hiding from my students and I won't put up with it from you. Just because there was an accident the other night does not mean that you can break the promise you made me. From all I've read, I think you were right and I do have magic. I can't learn everything I need from a book. I need a teacher. You won't let me leave this castle and there's no one else to teach me, so either you come out or I'll make you."

She waited for a few more minutes and then shouted one more time. "Patrick, please! I need your help."

Somewhere down the corridor, a door creaked. Charlotte turned, her arms still folded over her chest. Patrick stood several feet away from her, his head hung so she could not see his eyes. His tail hung between his legs. Charlotte's arms dropped to her sides and her mouth twisted slowly into a smile.

"There," she said. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Patrick didn't answer. Charlotte walked toward him and reached out a hand to touch his arm. He flinched away.

"Go," he said.

"What?"

"Go home. Go back to your family. They must be worried sick about you. Go home. Tell them I released you or I died or you escaped. Go home, before anything else happens to you."

Charlotte reached out again. He flinched away again, but she caught his arm firmly.

"Listen to me," she said. "I can't go home. Not now. Not when I know I have magic and I need training. No one in Linchester can do magic stronger than that needed to light a candle. Now that I know about it, I'm dangerous. I could hurt people. You should know this already! You promised that if I had magic, you would teach me how to use it."

"How can I teach you when I could harm you at any moment without even trying?" he said mournfully.

"I've been here nearly four months and you've hurt me once," she said, "and that was because we got into a stupid argument and I didn't move out of the way fast enough. Don't be stupid, Patrick. I know you're not."

"I'm dangerous," he muttered.

"So am I! If I don't learn to control this magic, it could explode out of me! It could kill me or people I love. If I go home, Patrick, there will be more lives at risk than if I stay here and you teach me. So stop acting like a big baby! Let's put this whole silly thing behind us and go on."

He didn't answer and still refused to look her in the eye. Charlotte reached up and touched his face, secretly marveling at the warmth and thickness of his dark fur.

"Please, Patrick," she said. "Four days ago I was starting to feel at home here. I felt as if you and I were friends, and I liked it. A few months ago I would have jumped at the chance to go home. Now, though—I would much rather stay here with you."

"You…you would?" Patrick stammered.

Charlotte nodded. "I miss my father and my sisters," she said. "I miss my students. But Papa doesn't need me, especially now that Petunia is going to be married. Dorine probably will too, and then Papa will have his choice of places to live and people to take care of him. As much as I miss them, as much as I would like to see my sisters' weddings, they don't need me. For the time being, I would much rather stay here with you."

Patrick's eyes were filled with emotions: surprise, disbelief, and joy. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Don't be," she whispered back.

For a moment, they stood in complete silence, their faces only inches apart. Then Charlotte took a step back, her cheeks flushed. Patrick's eyes began to twinkle.

"So then," he said, "when would you like to begin your lessons?"

Charlotte smirked. "I think we have a bit of talking to do before you start teaching me," she said. "I've learned a lot, but I'm sure you observed things the other night that I didn't notice. Let's trade information and then I will be glad to become a student and let you become the teacher."

"It's nearly noon," said Patrick, holding out his arm. "Shall we discuss it over lunch?"

"That would be wonderful," said Charlotte. She took his arm and they walked down the corridor together, side by side.


	16. Chapter 16: BatB 13,14

**A/N: It's hard for me to say this, but the story is nearly done. There's only about two chapters left. Of course, a lot happens over those two chapters, but the point is I should finish this story within a week or two. I may take time off writing this coming week (up through Wednesday anyways)because I have finals but then I'll be on Christmas break and have all the time in the world to finish. I don't really know what I'll do when this story is over. It's so funny. It started out as a short story—I never meant it to be over about 5,000 words. With this chapter, it's nearly 27,000 words long. That's a good sized novella. By the time it's done it'll probably be at least 30,000 words long. That's still a novella, but it's also one of the longest things I've written (the longest is an unfinished Harry Potter fan fiction, **_**Firebird**_**, which was 56,274 words long; it used to be up here but I took it down after getting completely stuck and realizing that it did not fit with canon and was not really all that good). This is definitely the best thing I've written. I think when it's done I'll take it out of this collection and post it as its own story. Eventually—probably in March for National Novel Editing Month—I'll edit and expand it and maybe turn it into a full-fledged novel. For now, I hope you enjoy this chapter. We are definitely nearing the climax, my friends. Thank you for all your support and your lovely reviews! **

—**Anne—**

* * *

From that day on, Charlotte and Patrick's relationship changed. They began spending most of every day together. In the mornings, after Charlotte ate breakfast in her chambers, they went to the ballroom, where Patrick trained Charlotte to use her magic. The first thing they had to do, of course, was to find a way to coax it into a form that she could use for purposes other than storytelling. It had been rooted in that one talent for so many years that, in order to use it to do other things, Charlotte had to work very hard. Patrick set her to a simple task: use the magic to raise a piece of cloth off the floor. At first she had no luck. She concentrated as hard as she could, trying to find the feeling that often came when she told a story and to use it to raise the cloth, but it was no use. Then, after nearly a month, she got it. Golden sparks shot out of her fingers and for the briefest moment the air filled with the scent of baked apples and honey. The cloth did not lift off the floor and the sparks vanished after only a few seconds, but it was progress.

"I did it!" she cried.

"Yes you did," said Patrick, his eyes twinkling merrily. "Now, try to do what you did again and send the magic into the cloth to lift it up off the floor."

Charlotte closed her eyes and concentrated, searching for the magic. She found it and willed it to come out again, to lift the cloth. Nothing. She tried again, harder. Then, she felt it. She opened her eyes and saw golden light streaming from her fingers into the cloth, raising it slowly off the floor. The scent of baked apples and honey filled the air again. The cloth hung in the air for a moment. Then the magic vanished and the cloth floated to the floor. Charlotte beamed. Patrick's eyes glowed with approval.

"Very good," he said. "Try it again. See if you can get it faster and hold the cloth longer."

By the end of the morning she could hold the cloth in the air with ease and even make it move a bit if she concentrated enough. At last Patrick allowed her to stop. Doing magic still tired Charlotte out a bit, though not nearly as much as it had before.

In the afternoons, their roles changed. While in the morning Patrick was the teacher and Charlotte the student, in the afternoon they were equals—friends. As it was only February and still cold outside, they spent the time from lunch until dinner in the sun room, reading through books from the library together in front of a roaring fire.

For Charlotte these days were some of the happiest of her life. For as long as she could remember, she had not had a friend. She'd been too busy to have friends. First she'd been busy studying in school, then teaching and caring for her family. Now she had Patrick—the first and only and best friend she'd ever had. Spending time with him—no matter if they were reading or practicing magic or eating or just talking as they often did—was the best part of any day. As time went by she nearly forgot that he was a beast, though the faint scars on her cheek reminded her.

Winter passed and spring came to the castle. As the days grew warmer, Charlotte and Patrick ventured outside in the afternoons, walking through the garden and the orchard. The trees and flowers burst into bloom and filled the outside air with the scent of roses and apple blossoms. The castle began providing picnic lunches and they took to sitting out under the largest apple tree every day.

Summer came. Charlotte's magical skills grew. Soon she could do all manner of things: float objects in the air, move them from place to place, even summon objects from different rooms. Patrick taught her how to mark a path for herself throughout the castle, so that she could find all the rooms she was allowed into without trouble. Golden streaks appeared on the walls to point the way.

In the orchard, apples appeared on the trees. Charlotte watched them eagerly, waiting for the day when they would ripen and she could pick them. She had never had a chance to pick apples before, or to eat a fresh one. Patrick promised that as soon as they were ripe she could pick and eat as many as she wanted.

When she was not spending time with Patrick, Charlotte wrote letters home, telling her father about her new life. Patrick took the letters and said that they were sent, but Charlotte never received any replies. Still, she decided that it was better to write and reassure her father of her continued safety and happiness without getting answers than to stop writing altogether in hope of a response. Besides, if what Patrick told her about the castle was true—that it moved around on its own and was never quite in the same place in the forest—her father probably could not send a letter back. It would never arrive. She longed to dream about her family again, to see how they were doing, but no dreams came. She had to content herself with her own imaginings.

Summer passed and before Charlotte knew it, it was autumn and she had been at the castle for nearly a year.

"Just think," she said to Patrick as they sat under the apple tree one afternoon, "a year ago I was sitting at home, dreading coming here. I was certain that I was going to be eaten." She laughed. "And now I'm here, alive and well, and hardly able to believe that I ever called any other place home."

"You're happy here, then?" asked Patrick.

"Very happy," said Charlotte. "I love it here."

"But you miss your family." It was not a question.

Charlotte nodded. "I do miss them," she admitted. "I wish I could have gone to my sisters' weddings. I wish I at least had a way of finding out how they are." She sighed, then smiled. "But there's no use worrying over something I can't control. I'm sure they're happy, and my letters must be a comfort to Papa."

"Would you like to see them again?" Patrick asked.

Charlotte looked at him, perplexed. "Could I?" she breathed.

"There is a way," he said slowly. "It will take a few days, though. Can you wait?"

"Of course," said Charlotte.

"I'll have to go places in the castle that aren't safe for you," he said. "We won't be able to spend quite as much time together. Only your lessons and meals."

"That's fine," said Charlotte.

"Then you will be able to see your family in three or four days," said Patrick, his eyes smiling at her.

Charlotte returned the smile. "Four days," she said.

"It may be ready in three."

"I want to wait until the fourth day. The fourth day is the day when I first met you."

"Four days, then," said Patrick. "Now, as we will not be able to tomorrow, shall we try to finish the book today?"

Charlotte smiled again and picked up their current book, _The Hidden Stone_. "It's your turn to read," she said, opening it to the marked page and setting it before him. Patrick scanned the page for a moment, then began.

***

For the next four days, Charlotte saw Patrick only in the mornings and at meals. The rest of the time he was secluded somewhere in the castle. She missed him, but spent the time reading, walking the grounds, and writing to her family. She wanted to practice her magic, but Patrick insisted that she was still not in control of it enough to try using it on her own.

On the fourth day—the anniversary of Charlotte's arrival at the castle—she woke to the smell of fresh bread, warm apples and cinnamon, and sausages. She smiled and slid out of bed. After eating her breakfast, she opened the wardrobe. There was one dress hanging in it—a fine gown of sky blue silk with a full skirt and bell sleeves. It was rather too fancy for Charlotte's taste, but she put it on. It was a special day, after all. In honor of the occasion, she left her long hair loose instead of twisting it into a knot.

She left her bedroom and followed one of her guide lines down the corridor to the ballroom. Patrick was waiting for her. His eyes lit when he saw her.

"Charlotte!" he said, walking over to her. "You look lovely." He reached out a paw and laid it gently on her hair. "I've never see your hair down before," he murmured. "It looks nice."

Charlotte flushed. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Patrick dropped his paw quickly and stepped back. "Shall we start the lesson?" he said quickly.

"Yes, of course," said Charlotte.

They got down to business, practicing the summoning spell Charlotte had been working on. She could now summon items from anywhere in the castle if she had seen them before. Within an hour the room was filled with everything from shoes and her signet ring to platters, bowls, and even a few stones from the garden path.

"I believe it's time to try a spell to send all these back to where they came from," Patrick said with a chuckle as Charlotte summoned a book that whizzed over his head to land at her feet. "It's very simple. To get these things here, you concentrated on where they were in the castle and drew them toward you. Now concentrate on where they are supposed to go and use the magic to push them away from you. Start with that book."

Charlotte closed her eyes and concentrated. She pictured the library, the shelf where she knew the book was supposed to go, and then pushed her magic into it and let go. The book flew away from her, over Patrick's head again and put the ballroom door.

"How do I know if it got back to where it was supposed to be?" she asked, already picking up a platter.

"If it didn't make it all the way, it'll probably be on the floor somewhere," said Patrick. "Once you try sending it all away, I'll cast a spell of my own to make sure they really do get back to their places."

Charlotte sent all the items back to their places. By the time she was finished, it was nearly noon. Patrick cast his own banishing spell to follow up on Charlotte's and then said, "Well done! I didn't have to do hardly anything. The only things that didn't quite make it were that first book and the garden stones."

"How could you tell?" asked Charlotte.

"It's hard to explain," said Patrick. "There are spells that allow you to see other places, other things, and you can combine them with spells so that you can see where you're sending something, but it's complicated. I'll try to explain it to you someday. For now, I believe the castle has prepared quite a feast for us. We'd better get to the dining room before it gets cold."

He held out his arm. Charlotte, still curious but satisfied with his promise to explain another day, took it and they walked out of the ballroom together. In the dining room they found that the castle had indeed prepared a feast. There was more food on the table than Charlotte had ever seen since she came to the castle. The table itself was spread with a fine white tablecloth and there was an abundance of candelabras set between the plates of food. Charlotte and Patrick sat and helped themselves.

For a few minutes they ate in companionable silence. Then Patrick asked, "What would you like to do this afternoon? We can go out and read for a while, or I can take you to see your surprise."

"It's ready then?" Charlotte asked.

"It's been ready since yesterday," said Patrick, laughing. "You wanted to wait until today to see it. I take it you want it right after lunch then?"

"Yes, please," said Charlotte.

"Eat quickly, then," said Patrick, "and I'll take you as soon as you're finished."

Charlotte cleaned her plate as quickly as she could. Homesickness had been nudging at her the past four days, ever since Patrick had told her there was a way she could see her family again. She wondered if it was a spell like the ones he'd mentioned before, the ones that allowed you to see other places. Was he going to perform one, or teach her how to perform one? She pushed her chair back and stood so quickly that the chair clattered to the floor. Patrick laughed as Charlotte picked up the chair and walked over to him. He rose carefully and pushed his chair in.

"I have to warn you," he said as they left the dining room. "The place I am taking you is still not entirely safe. I cast many spells on it years ago to block it off so that no one could enter it. I've had to take most of them off in the past few days. There's a lot of magic still lingering around the place, more than anywhere else in the castle. Stay close to me. Nothing bad should happen, but I don't want to take any chances. Hold tight to my paw unless I tell you to let go."

Charlotte obeyed. His paw was much larger than her hand but he wrapped it gently around her fingers and she curled them around, enjoying the feeling of his soft fur. He led her down the corridor and then turned left into one she had never seen before. Unlike the corridors she was used to in the castle, this one was lined with paintings: portraits of regal-looking men and women. Some of their faces were kind; others were cruel and vicious. There were tiny plaques on the frames but Charlotte did not have time to read any of them.

"Who are all these people?" she asked Patrick as they passed a portrait of a woman with bright red hair and a pointed face.

"Former inhabitants of the castle," said Patrick.

"Kings and queens?" asked Charlotte. She knew that the royal family lived in the capital city of Veren, but this castle might have been a summer home.

"Not exactly," said Patrick with a touch of sadness in his voice. "More nobility than royalty, though some of them did marry into the royal family. They're all dead now."

"When did the last of them live here?" Charlotte asked, still curious.

"About ten years ago," said Patrick.

"And when did you come here?" asked Charlotte in surprise.

Patrick did not answer. Instead, he stopped in front of a portrait of a young woman. Charlotte studied the portrait. The woman had dark brown hair and eyes and a spattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks. Her rosy mouth curved into a gentle smile. The plaque under the portrait was tarnished and faded, but Charlotte could just make out the name "Rosella". She was about to ask Patrick who this was when he reached out the paw that was not holding her hand and pressed on the plaque. Charlotte saw a tiny flash of green light and smelled evergreen and cinnamon. Then, to her surprise, the portrait and the wall it hung on swung out like a door, revealing a dimly lit staircase leading up into darkness.

"Come," said Patrick and he stepped onto the first stair. Charlotte followed. The secret door swung silently shut behind them.

The staircase was lit with flickering candles every few feet. Their light cast shadows on the walls. The stairs curved upward. Charlotte wondered if they were climbing a tower. It certainly seemed like it. Now that she thought about it, she had seen towers on the outside of the castle, but this was the first time she had been in one of them. There were so many places in the castle where she had not gone, even though Patrick had told her a year ago that she was its mistress._ "There are many secrets in this castle,"_ he had said that first day. She had found some of them—Mirella's Room for instance—but she felt she knew very little about them. Although he had told her that he wanted her to discover the secrets, Patrick had done a very good job of keeping her from doing exactly that.

They climbed for what seemed like hours. Just as Charlotte's feet were beginning to ache, they reached the top of the stairs. There was nothing but a blank wall in front of them. Patrick released her hand. "I have to perform some powerful magic now," he said, raising both his paws and placing them on the wall. "You may want to take a step back down."

Charlotte obediently went back down two steps. Patrick closed his eyes and green light blossomed from his paws. The scent of evergreens and cinnamon was thick in the air and the light was brighter than Charlotte had ever seen. She squeezed her eyes shut against it. Patrick cried out something in a language she did not know. Was it a spell, or merely an expression of frustration? The light grew so bright that she could see it through her closed eyelids. Then, it vanished completely. She heard a grating sound and a sigh from Patrick and opened her eyes. The stone wall had vanished, leaving an arch-shaped hole. Patrick stood on the top stair, breathing heavily, his eyes weary.

"Here we are," he said, stepping into the room. "Welcome to the North Tower."

Charlotte walked back up the steps and through the archway. She found herself in a small, circular room with a high ceiling. There was a rectangular window with no glass in it. A chill wind blew through it, raising goose-bumps on Charlotte's arms. There was a faint scent of roses. The room was almost bare. The only furniture was a small, round table with a silver hand mirror on it, the first mirror she had seen in the castle.

Patrick walked to the table and picked it up. "This mirror is the heart of this place. It controls the entire castle," he said. "All the magic of the castle flows from it, which is why I keep it locked up. If your father had taken this instead of the rose, I believe I would have killed him on the spot."

Charlotte shivered, but her curiosity soon overcame her fear. "But if the mirror controls the magic, what does the glass rose do?"

"Nothing," said Patrick, his voice tinged with melancholy. "It's a reminder. Just a reminder."

"A reminder of what?"

"Of something I lost many years ago," he said.

"Something, or someone?" Charlotte ventured, thinking of Mirella's room and Rosella's portrait. Who had they been? Had Patrick known them? Cared about them? What had happened to them?

Patrick would not meet her eyes. He muttered, "I did not bring you up here to discuss the past. Look in the mirror and think of your family. It will show them to you."

Charlotte could tell that he was in pain for some reason. She wanted to say something but she had no words. So instead she took the mirror from him and looked into it, thinking hard of her family.


	17. Chapter 17: BatB 15,16

**A/N: Right, so I'm not exactly pleased with this section. I realized as I was writing it that it sounds quite a bit like the end of the Disney "Beauty and the Beast". I love that movie to pieces, it's one of my favorites, but I don't want this to seem like I'm copying. Also I didn't get to the part I wanted to get to before I reached 3,000 words and so that will have to wait until next time. However, I hope you enjoy this. This story should wrap up in another post or two. *Sniffle* It's been so fun writing this and I'm sorry to see it end…At least it's not over quite yet. Well, enjoy!**

* * *

The mirror's surface rippled, as if she had thrown a pebble into a pond, and then resolved itself into a clear image of an unfamiliar room. It seemed to be a large dining room, perhaps half the size of the one at the castle. There were a number of people seated around the long table. The scene drew closer and Charlotte recognized Lord Verdon sitting at the head of the table, his wife on his right. At the other end of the table was Wilbur, and on his right was Petunia. How her sister had changed! She wore her dark hair in an elaborate pile high on her head, with emerald pins gleaming in it. Her green eyes flashed as she gorged herself on the fine food on her plate. After swallowing, she turned to her husband, placed both hands on his arm, and said something. Charlotte could not hear her, nor could she read her sister's lips, but the shocked and embarrassed expression on Wilbur's face when she finished caused her to suspect that it had been either rude or suggestive. More likely the latter.

_Poor Wilbur,_ she thought, grimacing slightly.

She watched the scene for a few more minutes. Wilbur's parents seemed not to notice the conversation going on at the other end of the table, which seemed to involve Dorine saying things that made Wilbur blush and Wilbur trying to convince her to be quiet. He gestured frantically, to no avail.

A servant walked into the room and refilled Petunia's glass of wine. Charlotte wondered how much her sister had already drunk. Judging by the red spots in her cheeks, quite a bit. She frowned. Their father had never let any of them taste alcohol of any sort. Of course, he was not there to stop her, and Charlotte doubted if Petunia would have listened to him.

With a sigh, she turned her thoughts elsewhere. _I wonder if Dorine is married as well. _

The mirror's surface rippled again, then cleared, revealing another dinner scene. This one was not in such a grand room. Instead, it was a small kitchen with a stove on one side and a square wooden table in the center. It might have been the kitchen of the family cottage, except that the window on the far wall looked out on the street of the town instead of on the back garden. A man and a woman sat at the table. It took Charlotte a moment to recognize Dorine. Her golden hair hung limp and loose around her face, which was pulled into the sourest expression Charlotte had ever seen on it. Beside her, Tom Bell looked older and wearier than he had been when she had last seen him—admittedly a year ago. He laid a hand on Dorine's arm and said something. Dorine pulled away and said something, then jumped up from the table, knocking over her chair and running out of the room. Tom pressed his face into his hands.

_Oh dear,_ Charlotte thought. _What about Papa?_

The scene resolved itself once more, this time into the sitting room in the cottage where Charlotte had grown up. At least, she thought it was the sitting room. Everything was in its place: the fireplace on one wall, the large chair in front of it with smaller ones nearby, the door to the kitchen behind those. But something was wrong. Charlotte looked closer and realized what it was. The floor was a mess. There were papers and dishes lying all around the chair. The fire was burning low in the grate, casting long shadows through the room. The chairs seemed to be empty. Where was the maid? Hadn't she been taking care of the house? Had she left for the night or taken a day off? More importantly, where was her father? Surely the maid would not leave him on his own!

Again the scene shifted slightly, rotating so that Charlotte could see the armchair from the side. Now she could see that it was occupied. Her father sat slumped in it, his eyes closed. His hair was gray and greasy and too long. It hung about his face in a limp curtain, emphasizing the fact that his face was more wrinkled and decidedly too thin. His skin was too pale. As she watched, he coughed violently. His entire body shook. He opened his eyes and Charlotte saw that they were bloodshot and dim.

She nearly dropped the mirror, which went blank. Fumbling slightly, she managed to set it back on the table. Then she looked up at Patrick.

"I have to go home," she said.

Patrick looked startled. "What?"

"I have to go home," she repeated. "Please. My father—he's ill. He needs me." She walked to him and grasped his arm with both hands. "Please, Patrick. Months ago you told me that I could go home. I didn't then, because I thought it was more important to stay here and learn to control my magic. Now that I can, will you still let me go?"

Patrick's golden eyes were filled with sorrow and worry. He didn't speak for what seemed like ages. Then, at last, he said, "You may leave whenever you are ready. I will help you to get home quickly."

He shifted his arm so that her hands were wrapped in his paw. Charlotte felt something metallic slip between her palms. Patrick released her. She opened her hands to reveal a delicate silver ring.

"Put it on," Patrick said. "Then, when you're ready to leave, think of your home and turn it once to the left. You will be home in an instant." He paused, then added slowly, "If you ever want to come back, you have only to turn the ring to the right and you will be here at the castle in an instant."

Charlotte slipped the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand and smiled.

"Of course I'll come back," she said. "I still have so much to learn about magic, and we have to finish our book and pick those apples—I'll come back as soon as my father is well. You have my word on that."

"I will miss you very much," he said softly.

"I will miss you as well."

"Make me a promise," he said. "Just one more thing, before you go."

"Of course. Anything."

"While you're gone, think of me."

"Every day."

She wrapped her arms around his as far as they would go and leaned her head against his broad chest for a moment. Then she stepped back and twisted the ring on her finger to the left. The room dissolved around her and she flew into darkness.

The next thing Charlotte knew, she was standing at the front door of her father's cottage. She did not bother to knock, just pushed the door open and rushed in.

"Papa?"

The sitting room looked exactly as it had in the mirror. Charlotte rushed to the armchair and found her father exactly as she had seen him, thin, gray, and ill.

"Oh, Papa," she said, reaching out to touch his hand, which were icy cold.

"Charlotte?" he asked hoarsely. "Charlotte, is that you, child?"

"Yes, Papa, it's me. I'm here. I've come back."

Her father shivered and pulled away from her. "No," he murmured. "It's a dream, or a hallucination. That damn beast tormenting me again!"

"Tormenting you? Papa, haven't you gotten my letters?" Charlotte looked down at the floor, which was littered with papers. She saw her own handwriting and picked up the page. "I've written you letters every week," she said, holding it out. "I've told you every time that I'm safe and happy. Didn't you read the letters, Papa?"

"Lies," he muttered. "All lies…My daughter is dead."

"No, Papa!" Charlotte cried with tears in her eyes. "I'm alive. I'm here right now."

His only reply was a cough that shook his frail body. When it subsided, he slumped in the chair, his eyes closed.

"Poor Papa," she murmured, blinking back her tears. "Why did they leave you all alone? What happened here?"

Her father made no reply. Charlotte rose. It was time to be practical. Her father was ill. He needed her help, and he needed a doctor. First, though, she would make him comfortable. She walked to the fireplace and stoked the embers, adding the last of the contents of the wood basket until she had a decent fire going. Then she went into the bedroom she had shared with her sisters. The room was dusty, but her sisters had left their bedclothes. Charlotte stripped the quilts and blankets from each of the beds and carried them back to her father. She draped them over him, kissed his cheek lightly, and left the house. She could clean it up and fix her father a meal later. Right now, he needed the doctor.

The sun had nearly set and the streets of Linchester were empty. When Charlotte knocked on Dr. Fairhew's door, she found him just finishing up supper with his family. All of them seemed startled to see her. Young Ruth Fairhew, one of Charlotte's former students, jumped up and rushed to her. As the child wrapped her arms around her waist, Charlotte realized how much she had missed being a teacher.

"Miss Morris! You're back!" she cried. "Are you going to be our teacher again?"

Charlotte gave the girl a squeeze. "No, sweetheart," she said. "I'm not home to stay. But right now I need to your father to come to my father's house." She looked at Dr. Fairhew. "He's ill. I don't know how bad. I came home and found him all alone. I did my best to make him comfortable but I can't do any more. Please come quickly."

"Of course," said the good doctor, standing up. "Ruthie, go and get my bag."

"Yes, Papa," said Ruth and hurried away.

Dr. Fairhew busied himself with gathering other supplies. Mrs. Fairhew smiled at Charlotte. "You're looking well," she said. "You've certainly been gone a long time. Your sisters told us you were going to the city. What have you been doing? Ruthie was devastated when she learned you weren't going to be teaching any more."

Charlotte smiled politely. "I've been staying with a friend," she said, "being a student instead of a teacher for once."

"A student of what?" asked Mrs. Fairhew.

Charlotte was spared answering by Ruth, who came back into the room with her father's large medical bag.

"Here, Papa," she said, handing it to him.

"Thank you, Ruthie," said Dr. Fairhew, dropping a kiss on her head. Then he turned to Charlotte. "Let's go."

Charlotte and Dr. Fairhew rushed out of the house and back through town to her father's cottage. When they arrived, the doctor sent Charlotte to the kitchen to prepare a meal for her father. "Something simple," he said. "Soup, if you can manage it."

Charlotte set to work while the doctor examined her father. There was very little left in the kitchen, and very few clean dishes. Charlotte found a clean pot and set water to boil on the stove, then went out into the garden to gather vegetables. She was glad to see that her garden was doing well. It had obviously not been tended for weeks, but there was enough of a crop to make a fine vegetable soup. As she worked in the kitchen, Charlotte thought of Patrick and wondered what he was doing. _Probably eating his own supper now,_ she decided, and realized that this was the first time in a year that she had made her own food.

When the soup was ready, she ladled it into the last clean bowl and carried it into the sitting room. Her father was no longer there. She went to his room and found him sitting in his own bed, propped on pillows, with Dr. Fairhew at his side. The doctor straightened up when he heard Charlotte enter.

"How is he?" she asked.

"Not well," said the doctor. "He has not eaten for several days. He has a fever and a cough. However, with good food, rest, and the medicine I will provide for him, he should be well within a month."

"Thank heaven," said Charlotte, relief washing over her.

"Indeed. Give him the soup now, and then let him rest."

"Yes, sir."

"I will come back to check on him tomorrow and to give him the medicine he'll need."

"Thank you, Dr. Fairhew," said Charlotte.

"You're welcome, Miss Morris. It's good to have you back in Linchester."

Charlotte nodded and the doctor left, closing the door behind him.

For the next three weeks Charlotte nursed her father back to health with the doctor's help. As he grew stronger, Mr. Morris explained how he had come to be in such a state. He had received Charlotte's letters but thought them a trick sent by the beast. Her sisters had not cared about it and had both married a few months ago, leaving him alone with the maid they had hired. The maid had gone off on an errand three days before Charlotte returned home and had not come back.

Meanwhile, the news of Charlotte's return spread like wildfire through Linchester and dozens of people began coming to see her. All of her former students came with their parents and begged her to come back and be their teacher. Victor Porgess had taken over and he was not nearly as good a storyteller as she was. The children's parents wanted information on a different matter: where had Charlotte been for an entire year? She stuck to the story she had begun to tell Mrs. Fairhew—she had gone to the city on business for her father and met up with an old friend. The friend had invited her to stay and Charlotte had agreed because she had found someone who could teach her magic. Of course, this prompted requests for demonstrations and Charlotte performed magic for the first time without Patrick there to supervise her.

The other question that everyone asked was whether she was back to stay. Charlotte told them firmly that no, she had to get back to her teacher. Most of the townspeople began to think that Charlotte Morris had struck up a romance with a magician in the city, but no one had the gall to ask her if that was true. If they had, Charlotte would not have known how to answer.

She thought of Patrick daily, usually more than once. Doing magic reminded her of him, as did cooking. She found she could not use cinnamon without her eyes welling up just a bit at the thought of him. Nor could she pass a pine tree without his face flashing into her mind. The children's requests for stories reminded her of reading with Patrick in the garden. She missed him terribly.

A month after Charlotte had returned, her sisters finally paid her a visit. Petunia came first, sweeping into the house as if she owned it and standing on tiptoe to kiss the air in front of Charlotte's cheeks. Dorine followed her and did the same.

"Charlotte, it's so good to see you," said Petunia.

"Yes," agreed Dorine. "We've missed you."

"Wherever have you been?"

Charlotte opened her mouth to start telling her "friend in the city" story, but Petunia interrupted.

"I really do think you might have come back for our weddings," she said. "It was quite rude of you to miss them, especially when you promised that you would make my cake. Luckily Wilbur's cook made it and it was delicious. But Dorine had to get Father's maid to make her cake and it looked awful!"

"It did not!" exclaimed Dorine, affronted. "It was bigger than yours. You're just jealous!"

"You were the jealous one," snapped Petunia. "You convinced Tom to marry you a week before my wedding so that you could say you got married first."

"I should have gotten married first anyways, because I'm the eldest!"

"Age doesn't matter. I was engaged before you were."

They continued on in this manner for some time before remembering the real reason for their visit.

"What is this I hear about your learning magic, Charlotte?" Dorine asked sweetly.

"Yes, do tell us everything," said Petunia. "Are you really training with a magician? Is he handsome?"

"Charlotte couldn't find a handsome magician," said Dorine before Charlotte could answer. "He's probably some ancient, crippled old man with a long tangled beard."

Petunia giggled. "Yes, and he lives in a tower with talking creatures and casts terrible spells on people."

"And he's teaching Charlotte to do the same!"

They laughed themselves silly and then kissed the air in front of Charlotte's cheeks again.

"Come and visit Wilbur and I up at the manor," said Petunia as she left.

"Yes, and Tom and I at our home."

"Unless you have to hurry back to your wicked wizard," Petunia giggled.

Charlotte kept her anger under control until they had both gone. Then she stormed out to the garden, flung herself on her knees, and began ripping up the weeds that had taken over her vegetable patch. With each one she tore up, she thought of her sisters' sneering faces and mocking words, and of Patrick, who was not a wicked old wizard at all. But by the time her sisters returned home, the whole town would think that he was and she would never hear the end of it.

She longed to go back to the castle, where it had been just Patrick and herself, where no one spread horrid rumors and all she had to worry about was whether or not she could master a new spell. She had her fingers on the ring, ready to turn it to the right, when she realized that she could not go back. Her father was recovering well, but if she left, he would be all alone again. She had to find somewhere for him to stay, someone to care for him, at least for a little while. After she returned to the castle, she would ask Patrick if he could come and live there with them. She would have to convince her father that Patrick was not dangerous—a fact he still refused to believe—but she would feel better having him at the castle than here in Linchester with no one to look after him.

Her anger gone, she stood up and brushed the dirt from her dress, then went inside, resolving to speak with Dr. Fairhew about finding someone to care for her father the next time the doctor came to check on him.


	18. Chapter 18: BatB 17, 18

**A/N: Ah, my friends, the climax has arrived! The story has reached its peak and it's all downhill from here. As far as plot goes, anyways. I'm really hoping that the story itself won't go downhill. Anyways, the last scene here gave me quite a bit of trouble. Charlotte and Patrick were trying to be all sappy and cliche and make this exactly like the end of the Disney movie. Luckily we fixed that and I hope that you will enjoy what we came up with instead. :-) (P.S. Bring your own tissues if you cry easily.)**

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Charlotte had no opportunity to speak to either the doctor or her father that evening, as the doctor did not come and her father fell asleep shortly after supper. The next morning, Dr. Fairhew came as usual to examine Mr. Morris. Charlotte stopped him before he left the house again.

"Dr. Fairhew, may I speak with you a moment?"

"Certainly, Miss Morris. Is something wrong?"

"Not exactly…wrong," said Charlotte slowly. "It's just that I have to go back to the city soon, to my teacher. I don't want to leave Papa all alone, but I can't take him with me until he's completely well again and I have to go back in a few days. I was wondering, could you find someone to care for him until I can send for him? Someone to fix him meals and make sure he takes care of himself?"

Dr. Fairhew seemed to think a moment. Gently, he reached out and took Charlotte's hand. "Miss Morris," he said, "I feel I must ask you a rather personal question. There are so many rumors flying about town about this 'teacher' of yours. Some say that he's a wicked old man. Others claim he's a young sorcerer with whom you are living, instead of with this alleged friend of yours. I don't mean to pry, but I must know who it is that you are living with. It would be foolish to take your father into a place where he would not be safe."

Charlotte frowned. For a moment, she considered telling the good doctor the whole truth about Patrick. Then she considered the fact that his wife, while a kind and generous woman, was also a great gossip. The old fear that an angry mob might storm the castle and attack Patrick rose within her. She could not tell the truth.

"I really am living with a friend," she said. "He's a good man. He wouldn't do me or Papa any harm. I've been safe and happy with him this past year, and I know that Papa will be safe and happy there as well, and well taken care of. But I must speak with my friend about it first. Please, Doctor, will you find someone to look after him?"

"Of course," said the doctor, though his face was still troubled. "It may take me a few days, but I'm sure there's someone in the village who would be willing to come and check on him and bring him meals."

"Thank you, Dr. Fairhew," said Charlotte with a smile. "Give my best to your wife and to Ruth."

"Of course. Farewell, Charlotte."

"Farewell."

Dr. Fairhew left the house. Charlotte spent the rest of the day trying to find the right way to explain to her father that she was leaving again, so soon after she had returned home. At last, she made up her mind to simply tell him the truth. When she brought him his supper that night, she sat down on the edge of his bed.

"Papa, I have to go in a few days," she said.

"Go?" repeated Mr. Morris. "Go where?"

"Back to the castle," said Charlotte. "Back to Patrick—the beast. I promised I would return as soon as you were well, and you seem to be growing better by the day. Dr. Fairhew is going to arrange to have someone come to care for you and I'll talk to Patrick about having you come to live with us at the castle. I'm sure he'll agree, so I'll send for you in a few days and we'll be together again."

"You want to go back?" repeated her father in astonishment. "Back to that…that monster?"

"He's not a monster!" cried Charlotte. "He's the best friend I've ever had, Papa, and he's a good person."

"A person? How can you call him a person? He's a beast! He threatened to kill me for taking a trinket! He's imprisoned you for a year. How can you call him a person, much less a good one?"

Charlotte laid a hand on her father's arm. "Papa, what you took wasn't just a trinket. The rose is very special to Patrick. It means the world to him. It would be as if someone has taken your greatest treasure from you."

"He did," said her father sourly. "He took you from me."

"He didn't take me. I chose to go. Don't you remember, Papa?"

"I never should have let you leave. I should have put my foot down. I should have locked you in your room and kept you here and faced the creature's wrath myself."

"Please, Papa, you have to listen to me! Try to understand. Patrick is not a beast or a monster or a creature—not on the inside. He may not look like a man, but I know that inside, he is. He is the finest man I've ever met. He's good and kind. He's smart and gentle and…and I've never met anyone like him before. He cares about me, Papa, and I care about him. He let me come back to care for you. If that doesn't prove that he is good, what can?"

"I refuse to let you leave again," said her father. "This time I am putting my foot down. I've only just regained you, Charlotte. I don't intend to lose you again."

Charlotte got to her feet. "You can't stop me, Papa," she said. "I have to go back to him. It will only be for a few days—a week at the most. Then I will come back for you and we'll go to the castle together. You'll love it there, Papa. It's so big and beautiful, and there's so much to see, and the food is spectacular! Believe me, you will live far more happily in the castle than you do here in this house all by yourself. I intend to leave as soon as Dr. Fairhew finds someone to care for you. Now finish your supper and go to sleep. I won't leave without telling you."

Mr. Morris sighed. "You have changed so much in this year, Charlotte," he said, looking into his supper instead of at her. "You're so like your mother. I feel I hardly know you anymore."

Charlotte left the room without another word. She was afraid that if she tried to speak, she would begin crying. She went to the kitchen and got her own supper, then went to her room to pack. She did not have much to bring back to the castle, just the sky blue gown she had worn the day she left. It was not practical for the small town life, so she had hung it in the wardrobe. She pulled it out now and folded it neatly at the end of her bed. Then she lay down and allowed herself to cry and think of Patrick until she finally fell asleep.

She dreamed of a rose garden in the dead of winter. The bushes were bare and the ground was covered in a thick blanket of snow. Ahead on the path was a woman, dressed in a gray gown with long, black hair falling around her like a cloak. Charlotte could hear her weeping softly. The woman turned and spotted Charlotte, and walked toward her.

"Thank goodness," she said, wrapping her arms around Charlotte's neck. "Thank goodness, it worked. I had to try to bring you here, after trying to keep you out for so long. I wasn't sure it would work."

"Who are you?" asked Charlotte in surprise.

"A friend," said the woman, stepping back and wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. "And someone who cares very much about Patrick. That's why I brought you here. I have to give you a message. It's important. It's about Patrick."

Charlotte felt as though her heart had constricted in her chest. "About Patrick?" she repeated. "What? What is it?"

"I'm afraid…I'm afraid he's—" She couldn't seem to get the word out.

"What?" Charlotte asked. "What's wrong?"

"He's dying," said the woman. "He will not live long. You must go back to the castle and find him quickly."

"Dying?" Charlotte repeated. She felt faint.

"Yes," said the woman. "You have to go to him. You're his only hope. Go, as soon as you wake up."

"But my father—" Charlotte started.

"I'll see he's taken care of. It's Patrick who's in danger now. If you really care for him, Charlotte, you will go to him without hesitation. Please. I can't lose him. I've lost so much already, so many people. He's the only one I have left."

Her eyes filled with tears once more. Charlotte's own eyes were hot and wet.

"Go," the woman said. "Be quick and careful, and save him, please. I'll give you as much help as I can."

"How can you help me?" Charlotte asked.

"You'll know. I don't have time to explain. You have to go, quickly!"

Charlotte nodded. The woman reached out and touched her forehead with a finger. Pale green light blossomed around her and she caught a faint whiff of roses before she was plunged into darkness. She woke within seconds and leapt out of bed. She twisted the ring to the right, closed her eyes and thought hard of Patrick as the ring whisked her away.

When she opened her eyes she was standing in the tower room exactly where she had been when she'd left a month before. The mirror was still on the table, but Patrick was not there. The room still smelled slightly of roses, and of evergreens and cinnamon, but there was another, stronger scent in the air: a sickly sweet smell, like stepping into a greenhouse filled with tropical flowers.

Charlotte had smelled it once before, in Mirella's room. Patrick had said that a great deal of magic had been done in the room and that had given it the smell. Had the same person done magic in this room too, then? Who was this Mirella, and what was she doing here at the castle? Had she done something with Patrick?

_The mirror!_ The voice of the woman from her dream cried in her head. _Use the mirror! Find him, quickly!_

Charlotte grabbed the mirror and looked into it. She didn't even have to try to think of Patrick. She could not think of anything else. The mirror's surface rippled and wavered. It almost resolved into a picture, but then there was a flash of bright pink and the mirror went dark again.

_Try again!_ the woman cried. _Try it one more time!_

Charlotte tried again. Again, the mirror rippled and almost showed a picture, then flashed pink and went dark.

"It's not working!"

_There's no time to try it again,_ said the woman. _You'll have to look for him on foot._

Charlotte started to set the mirror down on the table, but the woman cried, _No! Take it with you! You'll need it!_

Obediently, Charlotte slipped the mirror into her pocket and raced to the tower door. It was still open. She ran down the winding steps, nearly tripping a couple of times. The door at the bottom of the steps was open too. She continued through it and on down the corridor with the portraits.

As she ran, she called, "Patrick? Patrick, where are you?"

No answer. Charlotte continued down the corridor. She turned. Something was wrong. Her guidelines of golden magic were gone from the walls. Had they just faded, or had someone removed them?

"Patrick?" she called again.

Still no answer. On she ran. The strange woman's voice in her head was silent. She came to a door and turned the knob, hoping that it would open and she would find Patrick within. The door did open, revealing the music room, but Patrick was not inside. Disappointed, Charlotte closed the door again and ran on.

She opened every door she saw—the sun room, the library, the dining room…rooms she had never see before. It seemed that all the doors in the castle were open now, but Patrick was not in any of them.

_Where _is_ he? _she thought urgently to the woman.

_I don't know,_ said the woman. _Keep looking. _

_I've looked everywhere,_ Charlotte though at her. _I can't find him._

_Use your magic then,_ said the woman. _Send it out to find him._

_I never learned a spell like that!_

_Then use a summoning spell. Call him to you! Hurry! He's fading!_

The word "fading" urged Charlotte into action. She closed her eyes and pictured Patrick, then sent out a burst of magic. _Find him,_ she told it. _Bring him to me. _She opened her eyes again to see the golden magic flash in a distant part of the grounds. A moment later, something was flying through the air toward her. She took a step back. Patrick landed on the ground at her feet.

He lay limp and still. He was wearing the same suit he had been wearing when she'd left but it was torn and dirty now, and his fur was tangled and greasy. His eyes were closed. Charlotte knelt down and grasped his paw with both hands.

"Patrick," she said. "Patrick, wake up."

Slowly his eyes flickered open. "Charlotte?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yes, it's me," she said. "I came back."

"Just in time," he said, his eyes briefly flickering amusement. "I was worried that I wouldn't see you again."

"What happened to you?" she asked, looking at his torn clothes and matted fur.

"After…you left…I didn't know…what to do with myself…Haven't lived alone since you came…Then _she_ came back."

"She? Who?" Charlotte's thoughts flashed to the woman in her dream, the woman who had been guiding her.

"Mirella," he said.

"Mirella?" Charlotte repeated, accompanied, surprisingly, by the woman's voice in her head.

"She…used to live here," said Patrick. "She…she…left, years ago. But she's back now."

"Is she the one who did this to you?" Charlotte asked. "Did she hurt you?"

"It…it doesn't matter now," said Patrick weakly. "You're here."

"Yes, yes, I'm here. But what can I do?"

"Tell me…tell me a story. I want to…hear one more…before the end."

Tears filled Charlotte's eyes, but she blinked them away. "Of course," she said. "What story do you want?"

"Your best one," he whispered.

Charlotte nodded. She opened her mouth to start the tale of the lost prince, but before she could, a new story took its place and began pushing to get out. She released it.

"_Once upon a time, not so long ago, a strange and lonely magician lived in a castle in the middle of a forest. Though he had a fine life, he was very lonely. His only comforts were a crystal rose and a magic mirror that could show him anything he liked. _

"_One day, as the magician was looking in the mirror at the world outside the forest, he saw a young woman sitting with a group of children and telling them stories. The magician loved stories, but he had read all his books a hundred times. He decided to bring the young woman to his castle to serve as his storyteller._

"_The magician sent a messenger to the woman, asking her to come and live with him forever and tell him stories. The woman was both frightened and intrigued by this request and eventually her curiosity overcame her fear. She went to the castle._

"_For nearly the year, the woman told the magician stories every day. In return, he taught her magic and showed her the glass rose and the magical mirror. The two grew very close._

"_Then, one day, the young woman was looking in the mirror and she saw that her aging father, whom she had left at home, was dying. 'I must go to him,' she told the magician. 'I cannot let him die without seeing me one more time.'_

"_The magician was loathe to the let her go, but he agreed. 'You must promise to come back to me, though,' he said, 'for I will die if you are not here to tell me stories.'_

"'_Of course I will come back,' said the young woman. Then she went on her way, back to her home. A month passed and the young woman spent as much time as she could with her father. At last, he died. The young woman arranged his funeral and then started back to the castle. On the way she met a strange woman._

"_The woman told the storyteller, 'You must hurry! The magician is dying. Only a story can save him.' The storyteller was devastated and used the magic she had learned to take her back to the castle quickly. She found the magician in the room where they had always gone when she told her stories. He was indeed dying._

"_The young storyteller grasped his hand and told him the best story she knew. And then she bent and kissed him gently on the mouth and begged him, with tears in her eyes, 'Don't die, please. I love you!'_

"_Now everyone knows that true love's kiss is the most powerful of all magics. As the storyteller's lips touched his, the magician felt his strength returning to him and he sat up and was completely well. He and the storyteller were married, and they lived happily ever after."_

Patrick's eyes flickered closed as Charlotte spoke the last words.

"No!" she cried, ignoring the tears that streamed down her cheeks. "No, Patrick!"

"That…was a lovely story…" he said, his voice barely audible. "Do…do you believe it?"

"Of course I do," said Charlotte.

"Then…do you…love me?"

Charlotte wrapped her arms around him. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I love you, Patrick. Of course I love you. That's why I came back. I love you. I love you too much to lose you. Please, stay with me." She pressed her lips to his mouth and kissed him.

A shriek rent the air. Before Charlotte realized what was happening, bright pink light hit her and blasted her away from Patrick. Her head cracked the stones on the pathway and she knew no more.


	19. Chapter 19: BatB 19

**A/N: Right, so I was going to wait and post this until I finished the whole thing, but I decided to put it up. After all, I left you guys at a pretty bad cliffhanger last time. This chapter has less of a cliffie, I think. *sniffle* It really is almost over now. One more "chapter" that's really the tail end of this one, and then a short epilogue. It's been really great. I hope you enjoy this (admittedly shorter than normal) bit.**

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Her head ached. Somewhere nearby, someone was laughing, and someone else was crying. She opened her eyes and found herself staring up at the sky, which was glowing pink and gold with the sunset. Or was it a sunrise? How long had she been knocked out? What had happened? Where was Patrick?

She sat up quickly—too quickly. Pain shot through her head and the world swirled before her eyes for a moment. Then it settled. She looked around her. She was on the path in the garden. There were rose bushes to either side of her. Ahead, a familiar scene: a man with shaggy dark hair on his knees, weeping, and a woman standing behind him with her hands on his shoulders. She thought she recognized the man. The woman was a complete stranger. She had a wild frizz of red curls and wore a sickeningly pink dress that made her hair seem brighter and more horrid than it might have been. A disgustingly sweet smell wafted off her toward Charlotte: the same smell that had been in Mirella's room and in the tower. This had to be Mirella, then. The smell was the scent of her magic.

Her back was to Charlotte and she was speaking to the man in a high, crooning voice.

"There, there," she said. "There's nothing you can do. She's gone."

"No!" cried the man. His voice was familiar, but Charlotte could not place it. The man and Mirella did not matter anyways. Where was Patrick? What had happened to him? She turned her head, searching for him, but could not see him anywhere. She tried to stand and found she could, but when she tried to take a step, it was as if she hit an invisible wall. She fell backwards and landed hard on the stone. She tried again, only to hit the invisible wall once more. She turned around and tried going the other direction. Another wall. To her right—to her left—it was as if she was trapped in a glass box, able to hear and see what was going on around her but powerless to interact with it in any way.

Mirella was speaking again, her voice too loud to ignore. "I'm afraid so," she said. She laughed. "It was the same as last time—she just flew into the air and landed and…oh, I shouldn't tell you. It's too horrid. I've cleaned up the mess."

"You're lying!" the man shouted, knocking Mirella's hand from his shoulder and jumping to his feet. "You're lying! I won't believe you this time!"

"Oh Patrick," said Mirella with a girlish laugh. "You're such a silly boy. Why would I lie to you?"

Charlotte looked hard at the man. That couldn't be Patrick! Her Patrick was tall and covered in dark fur. He had horns, and a tail, and golden eyes that showed his every emotion. Golden eyes…The man turned away from the woman and Charlotte could see his eyes. They were the same beautiful amber color she had come to love. This was Patrick! But…how had he become human?

She did not have time to puzzle over it, for Patrick spoke again, his voice hard and angry.

"Because you're a heartless hag who's determined to make my life miserable?" he asked.

Mirella laughed again. "Whatever put that idea into your silly head?"

"The fact that every time you show up, I lose someone dear to me. Last time it was my sister, now Charlotte. It's your fault, not mine! It's your fault they're all dead!"

He started to cry again. Charlotte called out. "Patrick! I'm here! I'm right here! Look!"

He did not seem to hear her. Mirella, however, did. She turned and looked directly at Charlotte. Her face was pale and pointed, with freckles on it like pockmarks and tiny, dark eyes that flashed with cruel delight. Then she turned away again and wrapped her arms around Patrick. Charlotte was pleased to see her beloved struggle in the embrace.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said Mirella, pulling him closer. Patrick's face twisted in pain. Charlotte could not tell if it was because Mirella was squeezing him so hard or because his heart was broken.

"Let him go!" she shouted. "Let him go!"

Mirella looked at her again and smirked. She stood on tiptoe and pressed her thin lips to Patrick's. He turned his head at the last second and her mouth brushed his jaw instead. Charlotte smiled slightly. Mirella scowled.

"Really, Patrick!" she said. "I would have thought you'd have figured it out by now: I am the only woman you need. I am the only one who truly loves you. I saved you from that spell your sister cast on you, and from the one that girl tried to put on you as well. You ought to be more grateful!"

She reached up to try to kiss him again. Patrick pushed her away.

"Liar!" he shouted. "What have you done with Charlotte?"

"I told you, Patrick, she's gone. She died in that explosion when her spell backfired."

"Stop lying!" Patrick yelled, as Charlotte screamed, "You awful hag! How dare you!"

Mirella's scowl deepened. "I would never lie to you, Patrick. I love you. But I must admit I'm insulted! You keep calling me such horrible things when I've saved your life twice. I hate to do this, but I'm afraid it's the only way you'll learn."

She took a step back from him. The sickly scent in the air intensified and a ball of bright pink magic blossomed in Mirella's cupped hands. She lifted it and aimed. Charlotte screamed and drew out a ball of her own golden magic. Forgetting about the invisible box that surrounded her, she lobbed the magic ball straight at Mirella.

There was a sound like breaking glass and the golden ball hit Mirella in the side of the head, knocking her sideways and forcing her own magic ball to miss Patrick and fly into a rosebush, which promptly withered.

Mirella screamed in fury. Patrick shouted, looking wildly around for the source of the magic. "Charlotte!"

"Patrick!" she called back and tried to run to him, but the invisible wall was still there and it blocked her, except in one spot. Her right arm was able to slip through somehow, as if there was a hole in the wall that had not been there before. Patrick looked right at the spot and ran toward it.

Mirella sent another blast of pink magic at him. Patrick countered with some of his own this time. His ball hit Mirella in the chest, pushing her back. He ran on. His hand grasped Charlotte's.

"Charlotte, are you here?" he asked, still looking around in bewilderment.

"Yes!" said Charlotte, and squeezed his hand to confirm it, unsure if he could hear her. "I'm trapped somehow."

Patrick opened his mouth to say something but Mirella flung another magic ball at him. Charlotte yanked on his hand and he ducked just in time. The magic ball flew over his head. He squeezed her hand.

"I'll free you," he said. "I'll deal with her myself."

"No, don't!" Charlotte said, even as his fingers slid through her grasp and he turned away. She saw him conjure a large ball of magic, but Mirella was creating one of her own and it was bigger and fiercer than Patrick's. It writhed in her hands like a tangle of snakes. She flung it out and it hurtled toward Patrick. He didn't see it until it struck him in the chest and he collapsed on the ground. Mirella cackled.

"No!" Charlotte screamed and pounded her fist against her prison wall, waving her free but useless hand in the air and thinking wildly.

_The magic broke through the wall before. Maybe if I can make a large enough ball of it, I can break the entire thing and get out of here to help him. _

_**No!**_ cried a voice in her head. The woman from her dream, who had been silent until now, spoke hurriedly. _**You can't just sent out a blast of magic. You'll hit Patrick too. And besides, you can't break the barrier all at once. You'd have to keep blasting it and blasting it, wearing it away chunk by chunk. **_

_But I have to stop Mirella,_ Charlotte thought, annoyed. _I can't let her do anything more to Patrick._

_**You can't do it by yourself**__, _said the woman._**Your magic isn't strong enough. Let me help.**_

_I don't even know who you are,_ Charlotte thought at her.

_**There's no time for explanations now**__,_ the woman snapped at her. _**Just do as I say. Do you have the mirror?**_

_Yes,_ said Charlotte, reaching into her pocket and pulling it out.

_**Good. Send some of your magic into it and then throw it at Mirella. You'll only get one shot, so you have to hit her the first time. Can you do that?**_

_I think so._

_**Then try it. Now!**_

Charlotte allowed magic to flow from her hand into the mirror until the entire thing glowed with golden light. Then she stepped back until she reached the other wall of the cell and threw the mirror with all her might at Mirella.

Pale green light flowed out of the mirror to mix with Charlotte's golden magic. The air filled with the scent of roses, baked apples, and honey. The light grew brighter and brighter as the mirror drew closer to Mirella. When it hit her, it burst in a blinding flash. Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut against it. Mirella's scream rent the air, there was the sound of breaking glass again, and then Charlotte was falling forward.

She landed on the ground. The last sensation she had was of a strong arm slipping around her waist and pulling her close. The last sound she heard was Patrick whispering her name in her ear. Then, exhausted, she allowed herself to drift off to sleep in Patrick's arms.


	20. Chapter 20: BatB FINAL PART

**A/N: This is it, friends: the final part. The end of the story. With this segment, this story is officially finished. I've really, really loved writing it, and I hope you've enjoyed reading it. If you have any questions about anything in the story, send them to me in a review and I'll try to answer them. **

**Look for a more polished, possibly expanded version of this story coming in March (National Novel Editing Month). Also look for a new fairy tale retelling—not sure which one yet; it's between "East o' the Sun, West o' the Moon" featuring Patrick's parents, "The Little Mermaid", and "Rumpelstiltskin"—sometime around the end of the month or the new year. Let me know if you have a preference. Thanks so much to all my reviewers and to all those who read but did not review! You're the best! :-D**

* * *

The air smelled of roses, and of pine trees and cinnamon, and baked apples and honey. There was a faint trace of a more unpleasant smell underneath the others, but she could not identify it. She was lying on something soft and warm, but there was something wrong about it. She remembered falling asleep in a different place, with a different feeling.

The scent of roses grew stronger, and she heard voices nearby: a man and a woman, arguing.

"I need to be with her!" the man was saying, and she realized that it was Patrick's voice.

"You need to stay in that bed, Patrick Patterson," said the woman's voice, also familiar. "You were hit by a powerful blast of magic and I had quite a time healing you. I won't have you messing up my hard work just to move a few feet and sit next to her. You can see her just as well from your bed."

"Were you always this bossy?" Patrick asked sourly.

"I was never bossy," said the woman haughtily. "I simply knew what was best for you. I still do, so you'd better listen to me." Charlotte recognized her voice now. It was the woman from her dream, the one who had spoken to her inside her head during her search and then during the fight with Mirella.

"Will she be all right, though?" Patrick asked. "She's been asleep for three days now."

"She'll be fine," said the woman. "She ought to be waking up now, as a matter of a fact."

Delicate footsteps and swishing skirts moved toward her. A cool hand brushed her forehead and the woman whispered in her ear, "Open your eyes and prove you're all right or he'll never stop pestering me!"

Charlotte opened her eyes in surprise and sat up. Patrick gave a joyful cry. Charlotte looked toward the sound of his voice and saw that he was sitting in a bed a few feet from her, propped up on pillows with a bandage around his head and a wide grin on his face. It was strange, seeing him grin. She had been so used to seeing his emotions only in his eyes. His new form was going to take some getting used to, she could tell. She smiled back at him, then turned her attention to the rest of the room. They were in a room she had never seen before: white and clean, with wide windows to her right and a door on the way past Patrick's bed. The woman from her dream was standing at the foot of her bed now, wearing a pale green gown. Her dark hair was pulled back in a long braid. She smiled as she noticed Charlotte's eyes on her.

"Welcome back," she said. "Patrick has been quite worried about you. I had quite a time separating the two of you after you collapsed. He had a death grip on you. I wouldn't have moved you at all except that it was easier to treat you separately."

Charlotte stared at her. "Who are you?" she asked before she could help herself.

The woman laughed. "I'm sorry!" she said. "I should have introduced myself, of course. I don't suppose Patrick told you about me."

"How could I when I didn't know what happened to you?" Patrick said sourly.

The woman glared at him and turned back to Charlotte. "My name is Rosella deLaine. I'm Patrick's older sister."

"Pleased to meet you," said Charlotte. Then she paused. "DeLaine?" she repeated. "That's the name of the royal family in Taren, across the sea!"

Rosella laughed. "Yes it is," she said. "My husband is King Edward of Taren. My full title is Queen Rosella Patterson deLaine of Taren, but that's a mouthful. Besides, you're nearly family, so you can just call me Rosella."

Charlotte sat, stunned, as the history lessons she had taught so often rose to the forefront of her mind. "Lady Rosella Patterson, the daughter of the duke of Tinnea in Arenia, married Prince Edward deLaine of Taren in 1724…She disappeared six years later during a visit to Arenia…That was you?"

Rosella laughed. "Yes," she said. "That was me. And the person I was visiting when I 'disappeared' was my dear brother here. I don't suppose you know his history too, do you?"

Charlotte shook her head. Rosella looked briefly at her brother. "Shall I tell her, or would you like to do it yourself?"

"I'll tell her," said Patrick. He looked at Charlotte and smiled. "Do you remember the story you told me the night we tried to coax your magic out for the first time?"

"The tale of the lost prince," said Charlotte with a nod. "Yes. You told me that I told it wrong."

"You did," said Patrick. Charlotte opened her mouth to protest, but he hurried on before she could speak. "Well, perhaps you didn't exactly tell it wrong, but you certainly messed up a lot of the details. For starters, I was never a prince. My father was a duke. Our parents were always busy traveling and dealing with affairs in the duchy, so Rose and I were pretty much left on our own. Our parents loved us, but they didn't have much time for us. Rose is six years older than me and she took better care of me than the servants ever did. We had lessons together—all the usual things nobles learn and also magic. There is powerful magic in our family. Rose was always better at it than me."

Rosella made a noise of protest. Patrick ignored her. "When I was eight, our parents went on a trip to Veren to see the king and queen. They…they never returned. The royal messenger who came told us that their carriage was attacked by bandits. Rose and I were both too young to take over, and she couldn't inherit anyways, so my godfather, our father's best friend took over the duchy until I was old enough to do it myself.

"Around that time, Edward sailed to Arenia and started courting Rose. I didn't like him. I could tell that Rose was falling in love with him and I knew that if she married him, she'd go away forever and leave me alone."

Again Rosella made a noise of protest. "I never meant to go away _forever_," she said. "I've explained this to you before!"

"I understand now," said Patrick, "but back then I was eight years old. You can't blame me for thinking the way I did."

Charlotte laughed as Rosella pulled a face at him. "What happened next?" she asked.

"Well, after about three years she married him and they left for Taren. Before she left, Rose made the glass rose for me with her magic and gave it to me. You got that part of the story right. You also got what happened next right: I turned into a wild brat. I ran over the grounds and caused all sorts of trouble. My godfather tried to stop me, but I didn't respect him—a fact I regret now. All that went on until my seventeenth birthday.

"My godfather held a large party for me—dinner and dancing and all the young nobles of the kingdom invited. I was miserable. I refused to dance or talk to anybody. And then She came in: Mirella. She was the loveliest girl I'd ever seen—bright red hair and mysterious dark eyes…"

Rosella snorted. "I know for a fact that she had used a beauty-enhancing charm before she came that night."

"That may be so," said Patrick, obviously annoyed at being interrupted again, "but at the time I had no idea. I just thought I'd met a beautiful woman. She came over to me and introduced herself as Lady Mirella—no family name. She asked me to dance and I couldn't refuse her. At the end of the night I asked her to stay in the castle. She agreed.

"For the next six months, Mirella and I were inseparable. I was a young fool, crazy in love. I did everything I could think of to impress her. I used magic to decorate her door, I brought her to all the secret places I'd discovered in my wild explorations. I forgot about how much I missed my sister. I nearly forgot that I even had a sister."

Rosella's face had been twisting into a scowl since her last interruption. Now she said, "Do you mind if I add something here? Something that you did not know before now?"

"Of course," said Patrick, looking surprised. "What is it?"

"You said that you nearly forgot about me, but I never forgot about you. I wrote you letters every week. You never wrote back."

Patrick opened his mouth to protest, but Rosella held up a hand. "I know now that Mirella was intercepting your letters—even before she met you. But I did write, Patrick."

He smiled. "I'm glad to hear it," he said. "I knew you could not have completely forgotten about me."

"Of course not. Now continue with your story."

Patrick obliged. "Six months after I met her, I decided that Mirella was the woman I wanted to marry. I took her out to the rose garden and proposed—again, as in your story, Charlotte. She reacted nearly the same way the sorceress in that tale did, but it was worse. She screamed that she would never marry me, that I was unworthy—the son of a murderer. My parents had killed her mother, she said, and so she meant to take everything I loved from me.

"I didn't understand. I begged her to reconsider. I told her that I loved her. She called me a beast and sent a blast of magic at me that knocked me backwards. I heard a voice scream out and then…nothing." He looked at Rosella. "Do you know any more of what happened?"

She nodded, her face grave. "I was the one who screamed. I had come to visit you. The servants told me you were in the garden and so I went out in time to see Mirella's outburst. I saw her blast you and screamed. I tried to shield you, but my spell didn't reach you in time. She turned on me and hit me with a spell before I could stop her. I became the mirror."

"The mirror?" Charlotte repeated. "You were the mirror?"

"Yes," said Rosella. "I had made it for Patrick and brought it with me. It was meant to let him see me any time he wished. Mirella's spell flung me into it, and I was trapped. I watched as she changed Patrick into a beast. Her spell would have had the transformation last forever, but I had enough magic left to change it without her noticing." She turned to Patrick. "I believe you can pick up the story from there."

"There's not much more to tell," he said. "I woke and found myself a monster. Mirella was still there. She teased me, said that I was getting what I deserved now, that my sister was dead and I looked like the monster I was. Then she gave me the mirror and vanished.

"I crawled back to the castle and found all the servants and my godfather gone. I soon learned what the mirror could do and I sealed it away in the tower. I didn't want to see the outside world any more. It was only a reminder of what I'd had, of the responsibilities I'd shirked, and of the people I had lost.

"I forced myself to learn to walk on two legs, to talk, to dress like a man. I retained my knowledge of magic and my human mind, but I feared I would lose both if I didn't use them. I was alone for ten long years-until your father stumbled upon this place and stole the rose, and you came to me, Charlotte."

After Patrick finished, they were all silent for a moment. Then Rosella said, "Do you have any other questions, Charlotte?"

"Just a few," said Charlotte. "What exactly happened to Patrick, in the garden?" She looked at him apologetically. "I am glad to see you human—you look very nice—and I still love you, but I didn't get to see the transformation and I don't know how it happened."

"You kissed me," said Patrick with a smile. "Everyone knows that true love's kiss is the most powerful of all magics."

"Indeed it is," said Rosella. "That kiss saved him. I don't know much on the subject, but I'm inclined to believe that when you kissed Patrick, you put so much magic into it that it not only healed him, but also changed him back into a human."

Charlotte nodded. "I'm glad it worked," she said. "But what happened to Mirella when I threw the mirror?"

Rosella's kind smile grew slightly wicked. "Our magic reversed the spell she cast on it when she trapped me," she said. "She was trapped instead, and I was freed."

"So she's still in the mirror?" Charlotte asked.

"Yes," said Rosella, "and I mean to destroy it as soon as I can. When I was inside, I could still use my magic—indeed, I could manipulate the entire castle. I put a binding spell on the mirror, but I don't want to take any chances."

"I suppose there's only one question left now," said Charlotte after another moment of silence. "What do we do now?"

Rosella and Patrick exchanged glances. Charlotte tried to read their faces, but could not decipher anything. Patrick swung his legs over the side of his bed. Rosella rolled her eyes but did not stop him walking over to Charlotte's side and taking her hands.

"Did you mean what you said in the garden, about loving me?" he asked as Rosella slipped quietly out of the room.

"You know I did!"

"And did you mean what you said just now, that you don't mind the change? I can become a beast again if you preferred that."

"I love _you_," Charlotte said. "I don't care what you look like."

"Then

"Will you marry me?" he asked.

"Yes," said Charlotte.

Patrick kissed her. When they broke apart, he said, "I'll tell you what we do next. We live happily ever after."

Charlotte smiled. "That sounds like a wonderful idea," she said, and kissed him again.

* * *

After a week, Rosella finally pronounced Charlotte and Patrick completely healed from the battle. On that day, she left them for Taren. She had been away for ten years and wanted to see her husband and children again, but she promised to return for the wedding. That could not take place for a few more months, though, for Patrick and Charlotte had things to do.

Patrick had to take up his responsibilities as the Duke of Tinnea. That meant that he had to hire new staff for the castle (it wouldn't care for itself anymore), go to the king and queen and explain that he was officially taking up his role, and—though this was more of a personal task—find his godfather again. For her part, Charlotte had to go back to Linchester to explain everything to her father and determine what was to be done for him.

Mr. Morris was very upset that Charlotte had disappeared again, but Dr. Fairhew had made sure he was well taken care of by a Mrs. Verity Clairborough, a widowed lady who had always had a bit of a soft spot for Mr. Morris. The two had become quite attached to each other. When Charlotte proposed his coming to live with her at the castle, he refused. Mrs. Clairborough could take care of him just fine, and he did not trust Patrick, despite Charlotte's (slightly altered) explanation of his circumstances. He did promise to come to the wedding, which was all that Charlotte felt she could ask of him.

While she was in Linchester, Charlotte also took the opportunity to correct the rumors that had been circulating about her. The official story she gave the townspeople was that her father had bought the glass rose from the duke of Tinnea on his way home from his trip. He had paid what Charlotte considered an excessive price for it and so she had gone to bring it back to him. The duke had apologized and taken the rose back, and then he had invited Charlotte to stay with him for a while. He offered to teach her magic. She had accepted the deal and had stayed with him until she received news of her father's illness. Then she had returned home. Once her father was well, she went back to the duke, whom she had fallen in love with. Now they were engaged. There were some among the townspeople who did not believe this story, but Charlotte had decided that she did not care.

The last thing she did while in Linchester was visit her sisters briefly. Both Dorine and Petunia were expecting children and both of them were absolutely miserable. Tom had convinced Dorine that she needed to learn how to cook and clean and, although he did not push her too hard due to her pregnancy, he did have expectations that she felt were too harsh. As for Petunia, she still had Wilbur wrapped around her little finger. Her mother and father-in-law were a different story. When they had learned of her pregnancy, they had set strict limitations on her. There was to be no more drinking, no more extravagant eating, and she was to keep a civil tongue in her head. Lady Verdon had been told that babies could hear what people said even before they were born and she did not want her grandson contaminated before he even entered the world. Charlotte comforted them as best she could, offered to give Dorine a number of recipes to try, and explained to Petunia that her in-laws' restrictions really were for the best of her unborn child. Neither of them listened to her. Just before she left them, Charlotte gave both of her sisters invitations to her wedding.

"I'll be making the cake," she said as she walked out the door of Petunia's sitting room, where they had met. "I hope you'll come."

She had the satisfaction of seeing both her sisters turn green with envy as she left.

Ten months after the final battle with Mirella, Duke Patrick Patterson married Miss Charlotte Morris in a grand ceremony. Charlotte's father attended with Mrs. Clairborough, on whose finger Charlotte's mother's engagement ring now gleamed. Dorine and Petunia were there as well, with their husbands and their new babies. Dorine's son, Donald, started screaming just as Charlotte entered the chapel and Dorine had to take him out. Petunia's daughter, Patty, waited until the reception before she made an absolute mess of herself. Charlotte was rather embarrassed by them but did not regret inviting them.

Patrick's family was more well-behaved. True to her word, Rosella was there with her husband, King Edward of Taren, and their three children: the twelve year old twins Henry and Meg and new baby Lucy, born only weeks before her family set sail for Arenia. Lucy was an adorable cherub-cheeked child with an almost constant smile. Unlike her cousins, she was on her best behavior during the wedding and reception. The twins caused only slight mischief, shooting bolts of magic at each other while they were eating cake. Their father reprimanded them and they were sent to bed early that night. Patrick's godfather, a stern, gray-haired man named Lord Frederick Bellmore, was there too. He frightened Charlotte slightly when she first met him, but by the end of the night she had warmed up to him. He was impressed by her magical prowess and offered to teach her more, since Patrick's knowledge was limited in some areas of the field.

Charlotte and Patrick left that evening for their honeymoon. They returned quickly—just in time to pick the apples in the orchard. Charlotte marveled at the change in the castle. Where once it had been dark and gloomy, it was now filled with light and laughter. There were always people around: servants and guests and friends. Every part of the castle was open for anyone to see. Well, almost any part. Shortly after they returned, Patrick had asked Lord Bellmore to cleanse Mirella's room of all the magic residue and then seal it up. The room was as good as gone now.

Nearly two years passed peacefully after the wedding. One evening in late April, Charlotte asked Patrick a question over supper.

"Do you think we could go to Linchester tomorrow afternoon?"

Patrick set down his fork in surprise. "Why would you want to go there?"

"I just…do," she said. "I don't know why. I just want to go back. I don't want to visit Papa or my sisters. I just want to see it again. Will you take me, please Patrick?"

He smiled. "Of course, my love," he said. "But are you sure you're up to traveling?" He lowered his gaze to her bulging stomach. Charlotte rested a hand on it self-consciously. She was still not used to the feeling of a child growing inside her, though she was in her fourth month of pregnancy.

"I'll be fine," she said. "We can use the ring if that will make you feel better about it. Frederick said that using it won't hurt the baby."

"Then we will go to Linchester tomorrow," said Patrick. "Tonight, however, I think we ought to go to the library and do a bit of reading." He rose and helped her out of her chair, resting his own hand on her stomach for a moment. "We've got to make sure this one hears the end of the book, after all."

The next afternoon, Patrick and Charlotte walked out of the front doors holding hands. They stopped midway down the path and faced each other. Charlotte held up her right hand, where the magic ring now sat (her left ring finger being occupied by other rings). Patrick turned it to the left. They vanished.

Seconds later, they landed on the edge of Linchester. Still holding hands, they walked together through the streets. By the time they reached the center of town it was nearly dusk. Charlotte had been leading, showing Patrick all the places she'd known when she was growing up. In the town square, they stopped to look at the church and then turned the other way to face the schoolhouse.

"Was that your school?" Patrick asked.

"Yes," said Charlotte. "It was mine and I loved it."

"Do you miss it?"

"I miss the children more than the building," said Charlotte. She touched her stomach again and laughed. "This one will solve that problem soon enough. But there is one thing I'd like to try again." She led him to the schoolhouse steps and lowered herself carefully on the top one. Patrick sat next to her. "This is where I told my stories."

"Really?"

"Yes. The children would sit down below and they would beg me for a story every day. Then, when I finished, they would all head for home." She sighed. "I miss those days."

Before Patrick could answer, a pair of young voices cried out from somewhere down the street. Two children ran toward the schoolhouse and halted abruptly at the foot of the steps.

The older of the two, who Charlotte recognized as twelve year old Ivy Clark, said, "I told you it was her!"

"It really is!" cried the younger child, Ivy's little brother Peter, who was only seven. "It's the Story Lady!"

Charlotte laughed. "Hello Ivy, hello Peter. How are you?"

"We're fine," said Peter. "How are you?"

Ivy slapped his ear lightly. "She's a duchess now! Call her 'Your Grace'!"

"How are you, Your Grace?" Peter amended, then stuck his tongue out at his sister.

Charlotte laughed again. "I'm fine, Peter, and there's no need for the 'Your Grace' nonsense today. Call me Charlotte, or Miss Charlotte. This is my husband, Patrick. Patrick, this is Ivy and Peter Clark. Ivy was one of my students. I never had the privilege of teaching Peter."

"Pleased to meet you both," said Patrick, smiling at the children. Ivy blushed.

"Pleased to meet you, sir," she said with a bumbling curtsy.

"What are you doing here?" Charlotte asked them.

Ivy looked down, suddenly very interested in the pattern her feet were drawing in the dirt. Peter blurted out, "We saw you come into town and Ivy said maybe you'd tell us a story if we asked. I never heared one of your stories before. Will you tell us one, please?"

"Peter!" Ivy smacked his ear again. "You don't have to tell a story if you don't want to, Duchess Charlotte."

"Why would I not want to tell a story?" asked Charlotte. "I love telling stories. I've missed telling them to children. Would you like to hear one? I've got a new one."

"Really? Oh, please tell it!" Ivy lost all her shyness and politeness. She scrambled up the steps and sat at Charlotte and Patrick's feet. Peter followed her example. When they were both settled, Charlotte folded her hands in lap and began the story.

"_Once upon a time, a merchant had three daughters. One day he was going on a journey and he asked his children what they wanted him to bring back for them. The first daughter asked for new clothes. The second wished for fine jewels. The youngest daughter said only, 'I want you to come home safely.' Her father insisted on bringing her a gift and, after some prompting, the girl finally said, 'If you must bring me something, then find me a rose. I would dearly love to plant some around our home.' The merchant was pleased with that answer and vowed to bring her back the finest rose he could find. None of them realized that a simple flower was going to change the course of their lives forever…"_


End file.
